Of Thieves and Thrones
by clair-de-neptune
Summary: There are two kinds of thieves: the kind that steal material possessions, and the kind that steal trust, loyalty, and the hearts of people. Maleficent, one of the most talented thieves in the kingdom, is, quite regrettably, familiar with both. [thief!Maleficent/noblewoman!Aurora AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: This story is rated M for darker/sensitive themes.**

* * *

_Prologue_

"Mal? Darling?"

The voice sliced through her slumber, drawing her out into a muddled haze. Sleep tried to pull her eyelids shut again, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists as she mumbled into the darkness, "Hmm…Mama?"

"Mal, sweetheart, we have to go."

Her face twisted in confusion. "What?" It was the middle of the night, Maleficent realized, and her mother's tone of urgency made no sense to her. The sleep that had previously attempted to draw her back to bed had fallen away completely now. Why would they have to leave at such a late hour?

Something was wrong. "Why?" she asked quietly, fear creeping upon her through the shadows that slunk in the corners of the floor in her bedroom, and suddenly the darkness that never bothered her was quickly becoming something menacing—a silent monster that had no form.

She jumped at the sound of footsteps approaching her, and for a moment she forgot that her mother was even in the room. The darkness that swallowed her vision morphed the things she knew and perverted them into things that scared her. It changed family into strangers and familiarity into unfamiliarity; it made her body, which used to be warm from her blankets, abnormally cold.

The fear that kept to the far walls of her room now clambered up her ankles and legs, seeping through her pale skin and into her bones, where it embedded itself into her marrow and would remain until it became a fluent part of her body.

A hand, which trembled slightly, grabbed her arm and helped her out of bed. "We don't have much time," her mother said, and Maleficent could hear the worry that she tried to separate from her words. A soft _thud _shook the apprehension that vibrated in the air, threatening to break it and shatter it into a thousand hazardous shards upon the floor. "Here are your shoes. Put them on, quickly."

Maleficent didn't hesitate to do as she was told, but she dread clawed in her chest and sank to her gut—and once it settled uncomfortably there, it was replaced by a quiet panic. _What's going on? Where are we going? Why are we leaving?_

At that moment, Maleficent felt just as blind to this entire situation as she was blind in the darkness that choked her vision.

An alarmed whisper commanded her legs to move. "Come on, darling; we're going through the servant's entrance—"

Five loud, intruding knocks boomed from their front door and bounced wildly against the thick shadows that slithered throughout the house, so that when they reached Maleficent's small ears, they rang a thousand times against her skull and rattled her thoughts. The apprehension that vibrated in the air shattered like a pane of glass as the sound barreled into it; the panic that murmured questions in the corners of her mind suddenly swelled into an incoherent frenzy, and, breath quickening, eyes widening, soaking in more darkness, she grabbed her mother's hand and squeezed it tight.

"_Open up!_" a voice thundered from the door, and like the thunder it mimicked, it clapped and rolled through the halls, causing even the heaviest of their furniture to tremble and quake. "_This is the King's guard! You are under arrest for treason!_"

Her mother tugged on her arm and whispered, "Quiet now, Mal, be as quiet as you can." They wove through narrow corridors and through the servant's kitchen. Maleficent was surprised she could hear her mother's soft, steady voice through the rabid cacophony that panic created in her mind.

"Surrender now, and your sentence will be lessened!" the guard shouted, but Maleficent's mother had no intention of replying. They opened doors and closed them and opened them again and closed them once more; Maleficent had never been through the servant's quarters, and it felt like a maze—a maze in which they were blind, and they scampered through it desperately where they could either escape safely at the finish, or wind up returning back to the start, where the guards with their iron swords awaited.

"Mama," Maleficent squeaked quietly, "we're nobles. Why are we being arrested?"

They opened another door, and as her mother closed it carefully, she said, "Our class doesn't make us exempt from being capable of doing bad things, dear."

Maleficent considered this for a moment. "What did we do?"

They hurried through more halls, and she knew they were getting close to the exit by her mother's increased speed. "_You _didn't do anything, Mal, it was your father. Oh, I told him this wasn't a good idea, it would put us in danger, but he did it anyway…" It seemed like her mother wasn't even talking to her child anymore, and Maleficent noticed her tone grew distant as she rambled on.

_Papa did something?_

"Mama," Maleficent murmured again, "why are we closing doors? It would be faster if we left them."

"The guards will know where we've went," her mother replied quickly, and they opened another door; this time, the humid summer breeze hit their faces, as if it were a warm breath of relief. "Maleficent, if you're ever in trouble, know you should never leave a trail."

Maleficent didn't reply to this, but chewed on it in silence as they stuck to the shadows and took a slightly overgrown dirt path to their next destination. Ferns and low-lying brush tickled her ankles as they continued, the sounds of invasion upon their estate and the gruff shouts of guards seeming like a fading nightmare.

Peering through the darkness, Maleficent could see the outline of a carriage and horses, and as they neared, she could tell the windows were curtained for discreet travel. They climbed into it hastily.

"Thank heavens you made it," a voice, deep and familiar, exhaled with relief. It was Papa! As soon as the carriage door closed and the _thup-thup_ of horses' hooves sounded outside, she threw herself on him in a tight embrace.

"Papa," she whispered shakily, "I'm afraid."

His rough fingers ran soothingly through her hair. "Don't be afraid," he murmured soothingly, and pulled out a small sack, tied tight with string. "Mal, this is important. Can you listen to Papa for a little?"

She pulled away and nodded softly.

"This is your inheritance," he said, placing the sack into Maleficent's tiny hands. For such a small item, it was heavy, and Maleficent felt like it carried more than just gold with it. "If anything happens to us, I want you to have it now—"

"Richard, don't say things like that," her mother snapped, but Maleficent knew she snapped because she was afraid, too. "Nothing will happen to us." She said it more to reassure herself, Maleficent thought. It was a curious thing, how she could read her mother even in the darkness.

"Grace, please," her father replied calmly, "It's just in case…"

The carriage fell into a silence after that, and Maleficent returned to her seat, occasionally fiddling with the string on the sack and wishing she could gaze out the window, but she knew if she drew back the curtains in the slightest, it could put them at risk of getting caught. So instead, she settled for staring into her lap and imagining that this was all a dream.

* * *

Maleficent stirred. They weren't moving anymore.

The rocking of the carriage had allowed her to drift into a deep sleep. She was leaning against her mother's shoulder, which had stiffened, along with the rest of her entire body. Maleficent slowly rose, as if to not disturb the apprehension that suddenly returned in the air. As she shook off her sleep, the dread that rested in the pit of her gut did too, and shifted uncomfortably, nudging panic awake as it did so.

She felt her mother and father lock eyes in startled worry, and Maleficent realized that they weren't supposed to stop here.

Something was wrong, again.

A muffled voice seeped through the dark cloth curtains of the carriage. "…Need to check every carriage that passes through here. King's orders."

She heard the coachman ask why, and the voice replied, "Some wanted people have escaped—they've committed treason; it's a very serious matter."

The coachman responded, "I can assure you, sir, I'm just passing through with some lesser nobles—"

Which was a lie. The Moor family was one of the oldest and most powerful of the King's nobility.

"Then it won't hurt to check."

"Sir, I can—"

"No exceptions."

Panic shook her heart until it was thumping wildly against her ribcage, set her nerves on edge, and tore through her entire body. It didn't help that she knew her parents were panicking as well.

"Maleficent," her father whispered almost inaudibly, "hide that sack under your jacket—"

The lock on the door clicked. Maleficent's breath hastened.

They were trapped. They had nowhere to go.

Even though they had passed through the finish line of the maze, the guards trampled right over it and caught them in their escape. Even though they had closed all their doors, the guards had managed to find their trail. Panic rang in Maleficent's ears now, and her eyes desperately tried to find her parents'.

The door opened.

Maleficent had been enveloped in darkness for so long that the dim flame from the lamp blinded her; she had to squint to see. It made her parents' faces seem severe—a harsh contrast of shadows from the carriage and the light from the flame emphasized their startled expressions. The fear that the shadows carried now entrenched itself into their irises, and they looked at the guard without uttering a single word.

Thrusting the lamp deeper into the carriage, the guard peered at their faces. Maleficent swallowed. It would be rare to find a person, especially someone part of the King's force, that didn't recognize any member of their family.

"Richard Moor?"

_God, please, no…_

"Grace Moor?"

Her father's jaw opened and closed, but no sound came out. None of them expected to be caught, not when they were so close to escape.

"Smith! Atkinson!" the guard barked, and heavy footsteps padded quickly closer to them. The man turned to them, one hand on the grip of his sword. "You are Richard and Grace Moor, correct?"

The guard already knew who they were, Maleficent thought. This was just part of the process of arrest—the verbal confirmation that they indeed had broken the law. A lump knotted in her throat, and she chewed on her lip, too overwhelmed with dread to speak.

Her father audibly swallowed. "Yes."

"You are under arrest for high treason, Richard Moor, Grace Moor." The stern, cold glint in his eyes was darker than the shadows that surrounded them. "Due to your attempt to flee the kingdom, the King has sentenced both of you to the executioner's block."

The silent monster that had no form wrapped itself around Maleficent's throat. The guard's words shocked her so much that even the panic inside of her stilled, causing her bones to fall weak and her eyes to stare directly at the guard, who was now accompanied by two of his friends.

A small squeak slipped out of her throat. "No…"

The guards roughly grabbed her father and mother, and pulled them out of the carriage, and suddenly everything was a blur of shouting and protesting and fighting, and she was _sure _she heard at one point the sound of metal scraping against its sheath—

"No! Stop!" she cried, scrambling out of the carriage and falling down into the dirt. A hand grabbed the back of her dress and flung her out of the way; her head throbbed as she collapsed into the road again, and she rose again to frantically search for her mother and father. "Mama! Papa!"

"Run, Maleficent!" she heard her father yell from amidst the fighting, and the high-pitched whistle of iron slicing through the air cut through the shadows.

Her feet did not move, no matter how much she screamed at them to do so.

"_Run!_" her mother howled, _"run!"_

Finally, even though her legs felt like liquid, she turned on her heel and obeyed her mother, running in the opposite direction as fast as she could carry herself, running straight into the darkness once more, where she finally collapsed and wept until the shadows fell upon her like a cold blanket—and the silent monster that had no form returned, twisting her thoughts until she was exhausted, and fell into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Gimme an ale, and don't be cheap and water it down."

Bronze coins clattered on the wooden bar as a woman, tall, confident, and strong, stared hard at the bartender. The man peered at her with dark eyes and laughed, running a hand through his full, raven-black hair.

"You should know by now that I'm not scared of you, Mal." He picked up a glass and rag, and began to clean it. "And you know that I don't water down my ale."

"Diaval, _everyone _knows you water down your ale." The woman took a seat at one of the stools and leaned her forearms against the surface of the bar, nudging the coins to Diaval. He sighed, pocketed the bronze, poured her drink, raised a brow, and slid it across the smooth wood, as if he and Maleficent did this on a daily basis.

Which they did, but not this late at night.

"So," the man began as he started to clean more glasses, "what's brought you to The Dead Coachman in the wee hours?"

Maleficent rolled her eyes and dodged his question. "Why are bartenders so nosy?"

"Quit the shit, Mal," Diaval said bluntly, "I know your routine. You work at the docks during the day, unloading the crates, get off in the evening, and then come here 'round seven of the clock, leave at about nine, do some sneaky thieving, and then repeat the next day." She shot him a look as he set the glasses down and ignored her rudeness, examining her face for signs of discomfort.

He was unsuccessful. Maleficent had perfected the art of making her expression say one thing while she was feeling another.

She lifted the half-finished ale to her lips, spat in it, and offered it to Diaval, her hard glare never leaving his eyes. "Here, take a drink if it's got you so fucking worked up."

"How _generous_ of you." He snatched the glass from her, swallowed a good swig, spat in it, and slid it back. When she sneered at him, he shrugged, his tone obviously sarcastic. "I couldn't help but return such an act of _kindness_."

Their friendship appeared more like a bitter rivalry to an onlooker, but Diaval was, in fact, the closest friend Maleficent ever had.

Despite the saliva, Maleficent continued to sip on her alcohol. "This is watered down," she muttered.

"What was that?" Diaval asked, putting a finger to his ear and leaning in, "I didn't quite hear that. But I _did _hear that your best friend Diaval sells you ale for half price, and offers you the _best _advice in the entire kingdom—"

"Oh, shut your bloody mouth," Maleficent snapped, "the ale is worth half its price, anyway." Despite her words, she kept drinking until her glass was empty, dug into her pockets, and threw a few more coins on the bar. "I don't know why I pay for this piss."

Diaval filled the glass and handed it back to her, which she began to drink immediately. "Perchance it's because you enjoy the—" he leaned in and waggled his eyebrows, dragging out his syllables as he spoke, "—_hos-pi-tal-it-yyyy._"

Maleficent drew the glass away from her lips and put a hand over her mouth, swallowed, snorted, and let out a long, harsh laugh. "_Please_. The hospitality here is shittier than the drinks."

"Hmm," the man hummed and pointedly looked at Maleficent, "I'd say the same."

Maleficent laughed and swatted at him from across the bar. "You bastard!"

He executed a little bow. "Thank you, thank you, _really_. That's the best compliment I've gotten all day. I'm _flabbergasted!_ Absolutely _flattered!_"

They shared a few more hearty laughs, and Diaval smiled as levity filled the atmosphere of his tavern. _No better remedy than alcohol and dry sarcasm to cheer up a troubled friend_, he thought.

If she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her, he might as well help her forget it. _Besides_, he poured her another watered-down ale, knowing not to get her drunk, (as she was still a lady, and men were troublesome in these parts, especially around taverns), _I always get to the bottom of these things eventually._

* * *

It was true. Diaval knew exactly what things to say and which places to pry into to get Maleficent to open up, even if it was just the tiniest bit.

"Fine, fine," she sighed, holding her hands up in surrender, "I just was a bit restless tonight."

It was one of _those _nights. They were rare, but they existed, nonetheless. Diaval bit the inside of his lip. "Nightmare?"

Her gaze flicked down to her drink as she distractedly traced the rim of the glass with her long, slender fingers. _Perfect for snatching things quickly, _he thought, _natural for a talented thief._

He shook off his mind's wandering and focused on the fact that she had actually responded with silence, which meant that she was answering the affirmative.

Fiddling with his rag, he wiped the surface of the bar, even though it was already clean. The conversation caved in a little as Maleficent apparently refused to elaborate. He sighed, dipped his head down a little, and murmured, "Hey…"

She looked up, and he was surprised to find that her green eyes, sprinkled with flecks of gold, revealed a bit of discomfort—_fear_, even—and he saw a glimpse of something—he couldn't really describe it. It was a darkness that he'd never seen before, that seemed to be a part of her…and he wasn't sure if he liked the sight of it.

"Hey, it's alright…" he walked carefully out from the other side of the bar, as if he was trying to avoid spooking a scared creature. Diaval had never seen her quite this emotional before, and it was strange—alien, almost, to see her like this, but he knew that she was human, just like him, even though she hardly showed any emotion other than her usual confident, slightly cocky air.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before taking another sip of her drink, and scowled as she set it down. "Let me open up your eyes to something, Diaval. People are massive asshats."

Diaval laughed quietly at her choice of words (she tended to pick up many variations of curse words at the docks). "They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah." She looked down her glass and frowned as she discovered it was empty. "I know firsthand." She sighed. "I was just reminded of that tonight, is all."

"Hey! Remember _I'm _a person too."

"I didn't mean _you_, dimwit. You're more of a sneaky bird, if anything."

Puffing out his chest proudly, he placed his hands on his hips and said, "I'm taking that as a compliment." He observed her sharp features carefully when she didn't laugh. "Well then, who was it?"

Maleficent's grip tightened around the empty glass, and for a moment Diaval was afraid she was going to break it. "No one. Not anymore." He could tell she was angry—no, _bitter_. Maleficent rarely showed her anger; in fact, this was one of the first times he'd ever seen it. He decided not to push it any more tonight.

He rose from the stool and walked back around the bar, wiping down the counter as he went. "Well, it's almost two o'clock. You should get some rest, especially since you've got boats to unload in the morning. I heard there's about ten merchant ships coming in tomorrow."

Maleficent closed her eyes and buried her head into her hands. "_Fuck._" She dragged her fingers down her face and groaned. "Rusty is gonna give me _hell _tomorrow if I show up late." She rose from her seat and made her way towards the door. "If I come in here in the middle of the day," she said, "you know I've gotten fired."

Diaval laughed. "I'll have some specialty ale ready for you, just in case. On the house!"

Her lips tweaked into a small smile. "Thanks."

* * *

Rusty didn'tfire her, surprisingly enough, but he _did _give her hell.

She flinched as the burly man shouted some long lecture at her, and sighed inwardly. Maleficent had her hell last night, and now it came reincarnate at the buttcrack of dawn in the form of a short, stocky, wire-haired man with a few missing teeth.

"—nd I give ye good pay, to boot! Oh you little shit, I'm about _this _close from cuttin' yer bloody pay in half if ya keep it up at this rate—"

Thankfully, Maleficent knew that Rusty was all bluff and no balls, and that he had a soft side, especially for his female workers that had no other place to go.

His real name was Bartholomew Scott, but everyone had taken to calling him Rusty due to his grey hair peppered with the remains of what used to be a flaming red mane. The man had an iron resolve to add to it, and wouldn't back down from any challenge that rose up in his path. Unfortunately, that made him extremely stubborn, even in the tiniest of situations. It was quite comical—his round face would turn mottled pink with fury, and his expression would scrunch, chin lifting his full beard to jut up at his opponent, his strong jaw would unhinge, and out would fly a thousand obscenities until whoever was provoking him grew tired of hearing his gravelly voice.

_Kind of like right now_, Maleficent thought. She had only arrived about ten minutes late, but apparently Rusty was especially irate that morning.

"—there are _ten_ fuckin' ships here 'n the port already, and whattaya do? Come just _waltzin' _all slow-like! What're you _thinkin' _in that purdy little head of yers? _'Oh, I'ma just stop n' smell these goddamn roses'_—"

Maleficent fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. The other workers were glancing over in her direction, and she could tell they were suppressing chuckles. _It's funny when it _doesn't_ happen to you. _She caught the eye of a few of them and shot them a dirty look when Rusty wasn't paying attention.

"—'nd I don't give a flying rat's ass about what the Church says about usin' God's name in vain, because _Jesus-fuckin'-Christ,_ if ye ain't careful, I'ma make you work _double_ one day—"

It was obvious he didn't care about the Church or the Commandments. He had already used about a hundred different variations of God and Jesus Christ combined with _fucking, damn, shit, hell, _and everything in between…whatever _that _was. Sometimes, Maleficent could hardly understand him with all the cussing weaved in with his lectures.

Not like she needed to, anyway. It was evident that he wasn't happy.

"—now, get your arse over to a boat and start fuckin' _workin'!_ 'Nd if I catch ye slackin' off, oh _you'll _be sorry—!"

Maleficent nearly let out an audible sigh of relief. Now that Rusty was finally off of her back, she headed over to the docks with some muttered apology to the short man, and sneered at the workers that laughed at her.

A finger flicked her ear. "Nice going, Fairy," a woman that passed by Maleficent snickered.

"Oh shut up, Cat," Maleficent shot back as she rolled her eyes. The workers had started calling her Fairy when they discovered her ears were slightly pointed, and once they start calling you something at the docks, it sticks. Nearly every worker had a nickname, and if you didn't, you were bound to get one eventually.

"He's been like this to everyone today," a man piped in as he set down a heavy crate. It was John, but they all called him Pest—mostly because he didn't know how much he was talking, and people swatted at him to shut him up. "I think it's 'cause of how many ships are in today. He's gettin' real stressed out, snappin' like a twig at anything that goes wrong and I've been wonderin' if he's gonna be like this all throughout next week, you know how his moods last for—"

Maleficent smacked the back of his head and laughed. "We get it, Pest."

He rubbed his head and frowned, but his eyes smiled. "Really wish you'd stop doin' that. It gives me headaches."

"Good. Then maybe you'll focus on something _other _than opening your yapper," Cat smirked, "and keep you quiet for a bit. Give us all a lil' taste of peace."

Cat's real name was Catherine, but they called her Cat because she always kept her nails long like claws. _'I've got ten built-in knives,' _she explained once, _'good to fend off any men that think they can get more than they're allowed to have.'_

"_I spy with my little fuckin' eye,_" a rough voice thundered from the street, "_some workers chattin' the goddamn day away—!"_

"Shit," they all muttered, and hurried back to their places. Maleficent boarded a ship and nodded politely to the crew members as they directed her to the cargo that needed to be unloaded.

One of the best parts of working at the docks was that, as a thief, Maleficent got the pickings that came in as imports from all the other kingdoms. Some days, that included fine wine. _Like today_, she thought as she walked over to the open crates. Throughout the day, she would sneak a bottle or two away from the rest and hide it in a special place under the docks, well-concealed by the overgrowth that grew around the wooden posts. When she was done with work, she would collect her winnings for the day and take it home, and prepare for a night of stealing valuables to sell on the black market.

The black market opened twice a month at midnight, and illegal goods from all around the kingdom would be bartered or sold in quiet exchanges. Just about anything could be found there, if you looked hard enough—and sometimes Maleficent picked up odd jobs, contracts, almost—just little things that people wanted her to steal. She got paid sufficiently, but that kind of money came around only once or twice a month, depending how frequently she decided to go.

"—faster, Fairy! I wanna see those muscles _workin' _and this entire damn ship unloaded within the next hour—"

Wow. Sometimes, she didn't realize how easily she tuned out Rusty's infuriated barking. She hefted up another crate without difficulty and walked down onto the dock, set it down with a _thump_, and rose only to be greeted by Rusty's creased face, which looked more like a squashed tomato at this point. She towered over him even when she didn't stand at her full height, but that didn't really count for anything. She pursed her lips and prepared herself for more of his yelling.

"—and hell, would you get rid of your little _admirer_ o'er there?—"

Maleficent's face fell, and she quirked a brow. "Um, _admirer?_"

"_—yes! _Ye deaf, girl?" When he noticed that Maleficent wasn't quite following (it was hard enough to keep up with him anyways), his face twisted up tighter in frustration and he jerked his head over in the direction of the said "admirer".

Her gaze searched the main deck of the docks, but she didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. "Rusty," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes as she tried to figure out who he was talking about, "I don't see any _'admirer'_."

"—'nd—" Rusty finally took a breath from his relentless shouting and squinted at her. "Sure you ain't deaf _and _blind, girl? I don't need to be employin' any—"

"_Rusty,_" Maleficent pressed. She was getting impatient. She had more things to unload—and steal.

"'Tis that lil' blonde lady right over there. She been starin' at ye all day now, I'ma sur-prised you haven't even been noticin' yet—"

"_Me?_" She searched the main pier again and spotted a young lady clothed in a simple brown cloak, hands placed in her lap as she sat on a wooden bench. Why would anyone be staring at _her?_ "Rusty, she's just a commoner—"

"—She's been a starin' right at you all day 'nd disruptin' my establishment!—"

"Rusty, I don't even know her—"

"_I don't give two rat shits!_" he roared, his full beard pointing at her threateningly. "Do _somethin'_ about it!"

Orders were orders, and if she didn't follow them, she was going to be chewed out again. Maleficent gritted her teeth together and hissed out a sigh. Rusty became completely irrational and sometimes borderline madman when he was under a lot of pressure with the merchants. She wasn't even sure if what he said was true; she doubted this lady was really staring at her. It was probably one of Rusty's stress-induced hallucinations.

Maleficent made her way down the docks, weaving through the natural bustle. She avoided the paths of workers hefting heavy crates on-and-off the boats and the fishermen that hauled in their nets with ease, and approached the woman sitting on the wooden bench.

She stopped walking, and the woman turned her head to look up at Maleficent. Her face was round and soft, her hands small and delicate—obviously she hadn't done a lick of work in her life…or had recently taken a bath. Both were rare for a commoner. Also, Maleficent noted as she studied this young woman, she was unnaturally pretty. Her long, golden hair fell down past her shoulders in waves, and her eyes were a deep blue. They emitted something quiet and gentle—something Maleficent had not seen on the face of anyone she'd ever met, except on her own mother.

Maleficent pushed this thought away before the memories could silently surge back into her mind. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," she apologized to the stranger, "but my employer…" Shit. How the hell was she supposed to say this? "…well, I work at the docks, and for some reason he thinks you're disturbing the atmosphere." She scratched the back of her neck. "I don't know why—he asked me to do something about it—"

"—goddamnit all, Fairy, you'd best hurry your ass back to work before I fire you right on the spot!—"

Maleficent winced at the sound of Rusty's shouting, and she caught a glint of amusement pass over the woman's eyes. She bit the inside of her lip. "Look, I'm sorry. He's stressed out right now, and sometimes he gets a little crazy. I'm sure you could walk around a little and then sit back down, and he wouldn't even notice." She felt bad asking this of a complete stranger. There had to be _some _way of making this up to her.

The woman gave a soft giggle (the sound was quite pleasant, Maleficent noted). "It's okay, really." She casted her gaze down and fiddled with her cloak.

Her voice was light, as if it could float gently on air. One side of Maleficent's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"Look, I have a friend who owns a tavern—it's called The Dead Coachman. I feel bad about this whole situation. Come by there around seven o'clock, and I'll see if I've got enough pay to get you a drink."

The woman looked back up at her, genuine gratitude glistening in her eyes. "Sure."

Looked like Diaval would be meeting someone new tonight. "I apologize again," Maleficent said, "but I don't think I caught your name."

"Aurora," the woman replied, a smile spreading across her face, "my name is Aurora."

Maleficent mirrored Aurora's expression. "Mal. A pleasure to meet you, Aurora."


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, well, looks like someone _didn't _get fired, after all!"

"Piss off, Diaval, and get me a drink," Maleficent huffed as she sat at the bar, throwing a few coins towards his direction, "I wasn't spared hell today. I've earned a headache from all of Rusty's shouting."

"_Rude_," Diaval snorted, but he had a playful twinkle in his dark eyes. "It looks like you survived, though. How insane was he today?"

"Borderline madman. I could hardly understand him through his ranting and yelling—" she paused, as if she remembered something, "—oh, I nearly forgot. Keep an eye out for a lady with blonde hair walking in here, okay? She was victim to Rusty's lunacy today, and I'm buying her a drink to make up for it."

Diaval's eyebrows rose. "A _lady_, you say? Well, I'll be—"

Maleficent rolled her eyes and cut him off. "Oh stop, Diaval. You wouldn't stand a chance with her." She looked around at the customers that sat at various tables in the tavern, most of which were male (and a bit greasy-looking). "She'll bring you in a hefty profit tonight, though. All of these men are going to want to buy her drinks."

"Oh?" Diaval's interest was sparked. "So she's _quite_ a looker, then?"

"Don't talk about her like that," Maleficent snapped defensively, and Diaval's eyebrow arched. "Just…look out for her. I'm afraid once she steps foot in here, she's going to be jumped by some horny drunk."

A smirk slithered onto his face as he watched Maleficent take a gulp of her ale. "You sure that horny drunk won't be you?"

As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted it. Maleficent's eyes widened and a flash of anger raced across them, and before he knew what was going on, spittle was flying from his mouth and the _crack! _of the slap rang in his ears painfully. A patch of red bloomed across the side of his face, and once the ringing stopped he turned back to face Maleficent. Her hand was still raised, fingers clenching and unclenching; the fury was still there, but it had died down to a few embers that were burning out in her irises.

"Sorry," he muttered, ignoring the customers that had turned around to see the commotion, "I didn't mean it like that."

He was telling the truth. It was supposed to be a normal, sarcastic joke, just like any other that they usually exchanged, but for some reason, this one hit a trigger in her.

Maleficent showed no indication of interest in Diaval's claim. She slammed the now-empty glass down on the table and slid it across the bar. Maleficent worked in strange ways—just as quickly as the anger boiled up, it settled down, and she acted as though nothing had happened. "Pour me another, and don't water it down this time."

He filled up her glass and slid it back, and shifted his gaze just over Maleficent's shoulder as he heard the door open. His dark eyes caught a glimpse of golden-colored hair. "Is that her?"

Maleficent looked over her shoulder. "Yeah, that's her."

Jesus, the poor girl looked like a doe caught in a circle of hunters. Maleficent was right—as soon as she stepped into the tavern, men were drawn out from their card games and loud, bawdy conversation, their shallow gazes picking appraisingly down her figure, even though she was cloaked. Diaval observed carefully as Maleficent's face morphed into a disgusted scowl. It wasn't directed towards the girl, but to the customers that hounded after the newcomer with their eyes—and as soon as they saw Maleficent glaring at them, they slunk back down into their gambling and conversations, which were reduced to quiet murmurs.

No one would ever dare to provoke Maleficent…unless someone was drunk enough to, of course.

"Welcome to The Dead Coachman, young lass," Diaval greeted warmly as he leaned his elbows on the counter, "the name's Diaval. I'm the bartender and owner of this little place." He smiled and gestured to the vacant stool next to Maleficent. "Sit, please."

She tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear nervously and slipped on the barstool meekly. Diaval observed her with unexpressed curiosity. She _was _pretty—her face glowed and her skin was completely unblemished: no freckles, no scrapes, nothing. It was a slightly strange sight, to see a commoner so pale, without a scratch or patch of dirt, but he decided to not question it. If this was a person Maleficent _didn't_ immediately want to rip to shreds, she could be considered a friend.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, full of wonder and gentle kindness. There was something else there though—a…a kind of…_what?_

The words came to him at the same time. _Innocence. Naïveté. _How old was she? She looked about eighteen, nineteen, perhaps. And yet, this girl was the personification of contradiction—somewhere behind the gentleness, the kindness, the innocence, the naïveté, hid a sadness; it was formless, similar to the darkness that he had once caught in Maleficent's eyes.

_She has seen so little, and she has seen too much._

He wished Maleficent was as easily readable as this girl that sat on the other side of the counter, but then when he thought of her rare bursts of anger, or when her expression would fall and darken at a certain word or phrase…

Sometimes, some things are better left unknown.

"Aurora," the girl offered quietly, "it's nice to meet you."

Diaval nodded. "So, what'll you two be having tonight? Ale? Scotch? Whiskey? Vodka? I just got a shipment a few days ago."

Maleficent: "Ale."

Aurora: "Vodka."

Diaval raised a brow and peered at Aurora. "Sorry little lady," he said, "I appreciate the business considering I've only got a few bottles of vodka, but from the looks of you, you seem like you'd have a wee bit difficulty holding your liquor. I'd rather have a few less coins in my pocket than a young lass stumbling around the streets for any man to take advantage of."

Aurora looked at Maleficent, who only shrugged. "He's got a point. You're tall, but you're a lightweight." Her green-golden eyes narrowed. "You've never even been in a tavern before, have you?"

Aurora opened her mouth, then shut it in defeat.

Maleficent's laugh was loud and rough—the kind that indicated she was in a good mood again. "Ha!" She smirked. "I knew it." She slid her glass, which was empty again, back towards Diaval. "Make it double."

"Alrrrrright!" His voice was light and playful as he gathered three glasses in his hand and made a pose, puffing out his chest and pointing his chin up. "I must now perform the customary Dead Coachman welcoming ritual—"

"Oh _god_," Maleficent mumbled. "He did this with _me_ the first time I walked into his bar."

"—don't interrupt me, pissy-pants." He made sure his stance was tall and his feet were planted firmly on the floor, and with practiced skill, he threw all three glasses in the air and caught them deftly in his hands, one at a time, and threw them back up as soon as he caught them.

He cleared his throat and sang, his voice strong but with a quirky off-key tone:

"_O! The moon was full and the night was warm_

_ Quiet save for a shadowy form…"_

Juggling with ease, he smiled at the soft, joyful laughter that floated on the air (this Aurora girl was a little piece of sunshine, he concluded), each time propelling them higher until they were almost touching the ceiling.

_"The trees watched without a care_

_At the poor man's unlucky affair…"_

When the first glass fell back into his hand, he set it on the bar and quickly poured a drink in it.

"_Hoping to return to his humble abode,_

_ Having abandoned the carriage he once rode…_"

The second glass fell in perfect time into his hand, and he filled it just as he did with the first.

_"Alas, he did not return, and bled…_

The third glass came down. He caught it, filled it, and slammed it down with finality as he sang the last word the loudest—

_…Until the coachman fell down dead."_

Applause and laughter rose from the patrons of the tavern, and Aurora's mouth turned into an ear-to-ear smile. A giggle bubbled from her chest as she took the glass Diaval slid to her. "Pleasantly morbid, Diaval."

Maleficent rolled her eyes playfully. "I remembered it with more _crashing _at the end. And a long string of muttered obscenities as you had to wipe up the bar."

Diaval swatted at her and pouted. "Oh stop it, Mal, you know I was a bit more _unpracticed_ then."

"I never did get my refund, now I think about it..."

"_I_ don't remember a refund."

"Well _I _do, and we all know my head is better than your bird-brain."

He shot her a glare, but it was in good humor. "Fine." He dug into his pockets and pulled out two bronze coins, tossing them to her from the other side of the counter. She plucked them out of the air with long, slender fingers, and for a moment Diaval _swore _he saw Aurora looking at them—

"_Finally_, you stingy old goat." She threw the coins down on the bar and gave her two empty glasses back to Diaval. "Fill 'em up."

"Christ, Mal," he laughed as he picked up the glasses, "this'll make your fourth and fifth already."

"The headaches Rusty gives me take at _least _five drinks," she groaned, "I think his shouting is still ringing in my ears. '_Get your goddamn arse back to that ship!'_" her voice went deep as she imitated the little burly man, "_'Jeezus-fuckin'-hellin'-shittin'-Christ, Fairy! 'Nd if I don't be a-seein' yer legs movin' faster, I'ma shove ye right into the water! Oh ya lil'—"_

"'Fairy'?" Aurora asked quietly, but her eyes twinkled with amusement.

Diaval snorted. "_'Fairy'_? Is _that _what they call you down there?"

That earned him a scowl. He smiled victoriously. "Yes," she sighed, and tucked her chestnut hair behind her ears—revealing that they were just slightly pointed. Aurora's eyes sparkled with interest. "They took one look at my ears and dubbed me 'Fairy'. I'm not sure if I like it or if I hate it."

"I like it."

Both Maleficent and Diaval turned their heads to Aurora, who shied away a bit at the sudden focus of attention. Maleficent arched a brow. "Really?"

Her voice was softer, quieter. "It's cute. Endearing."

A dignified huff. "I am not_ cute_."

Diaval wasn't sure if Maleficent caught it—he noticed Aurora's lips twitch just _barely_, as if she was about to open her mouth and say the opposite. Instead, her attention was drawn to two men who entered the tavern, the King's crest sewn on their shirts.

Maleficent tapped her fingers on the counter: her one and only nervous habit. At first, Diaval thought this was because she was a thief, and thieves and guards usually don't mix well—but once he saw the look in her eyes, that formless darkness that dashed across her irises, just a glimpse of bittersweet pain—he knew there was something else behind it.

He noticed Aurora had picked up on this too, but she didn't seem to mind their presence. She studied them curiously, but once one of them smiled at her, she turned around quickly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

They were talking quite loudly; for some reason, guards tended to do that—their conversation drifted from complaining about their day to their wives at home (Diaval frowned inwardly at this, at the idea of thirty-something-year-old men with _wives_ smiling suggestively at Aurora, the perverts) to the town gossip that drifted around the King's force. It was a great way to get information, although not always reliable, especially since they always came in when they had nights off.

For a while, the night continued pretty well. Maleficent and Aurora talked—well, Maleficent spewed out her normal sarcasm while Aurora countered with quiet, clever retorts, and Diaval would chime in every now and then, if he wasn't carrying more drinks to people at tables or keeping up the bar. The men gambled and drank, the guards chortled loudly, the ladies were happy…

Yes, it continued very well, until the guards' conversation switched topic.

"Did'ya hear about that one fellow?" the younger one of them said. "The one that was on the King's force for years? Died in a training accident while he was teachin' the rookies."

"Was it the one that was like a giant? Stiff features?" the other asked.

"I'd reckon so. That man was like a boulder. Dunno how he'd be able to die in a training accident."

"Doubt it was a training accident. Perchance 'twas a heart attack or something. Old age."

"Don't think it matters once he's dead," the younger one pointed out, "'cause they're burying him at the cemetery tomorrow."

"Poor fellow. Heard he was a good, loyal man."

This meant nothing to Diaval—he heard about things like this on a daily basis, but suddenly he heard a fast tapping sound over where Maleficent and Aurora sat, and he turned to see Maleficent's fingers drumming rapidly on the table.

_That isn't a good sign._

He walked over casually, trying not to express his worry, and noticed both of Maleficent's glasses were dry. Before he could open his mouth to speak, to change the subject, to get her mind off of whatever the hell was bothering her this much, she shoved both glasses in his direction.

They each had five coins in them. "Get me a goddamn vodka. And make it double." Her voice was rigid and cold, and had completely lost its humorous, sarcastic demeanor.

_Shit._ Maleficent asking for double the hard alcohol meant she was _really_ trying to forget something. Nevertheless, he acquiesced, taking out the coins and opening the first of the a few bottles he had, filled the glasses with the clear liquid to the rim, and slid it back. "Pushy," he teased, but she didn't respond.

He sighed inwardly. _Fuck._

Aurora had seemed to pick up on Maleficent's sudden change in mood—he could see in her eyes—dark blue irises churned with uncertainty and worry. She fidgeted with her cloak as she watched Maleficent quickly down the two glasses, one right after the other (which Diaval would've considered rather impressive if not for the current uneasy atmosphere that hung between them), and her soft gaze fell on him once the second glass hit the counter.

"Diaval, do you happen to have the time?" she asked quietly, but it wasn't her usual quietness—it was as if she was trying not to disturb Maleficent, as if the woman next to her would spook if she spoke too loudly.

"Yes ma'am—" he glanced at the wall clock, "nine fifty-two."

She gasped. "Nearly ten! Oh god, father will have a fit if I come home late," she said hurriedly as she got off of her stool. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Diaval, and you too, Mal." Maleficent jerked a little at the sound of her voice, as if she was drawn out of a deep haze, and managed to give a small smile to Aurora. "Thank you both for the lovely evening."

Diaval performed a dramatic bow, and Aurora's laugh gave the tense atmosphere a bit of levity. "My pleasure, miss."

Maleficent gripped her glass tight, but her voice betrayed her stiff actions. "Goodbye, Aurora." She said it surprisingly gently, almost with a hint of somberness, as if she was saying a final farewell to an old friend.

Aurora's cobalt eyes softened with compassion. "Goodbye, Fairy."

* * *

Diaval had lost count of how many glasses of vodka he had served Maleficent, and it never ceased to amaze him that she didn't show any signs of being even the slightest bit tipsy.

Unfortunately, that meant three things: one, she drank enough to have developed a resistance to even the heaviest of alcohol, which he took as a bad thing; two, whatever she was trying to forget must've been really, _really _bad; and three, Maleficent was spending practically her entire pay on emptying his bottles of vodka.

He sighed. "So, are you ever going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me," she muttered.

"Bullshit."

"You're bullshit. A whole fucking _load _of it."

The only sign of any form of intoxication in Maleficent was that she swore more often. He sighed again.

His gaze drifted to where Aurora was previously sitting, and his brow creased in confusion. "Look." He picked up a full glass of ale. "She didn't touch her drink."

Her eyes stared at the glass in his hand for a moment, then shrugged indifferently. "So?"

"_So,_" he put the glass down and leaned in, "she didn't come here for a free drink."

She sneered a bit. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means she came for the company." His dark eyes met hers. "It means she came for _you_."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: For the effect, I suggest finding the song ****_Silhouettes_**** by Of Monsters and Men and putting it on repeat while reading this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was nearly eleven o'clock. Three soft knocks seeped through the door, but they sounded like thunder to Bartholomew Scott's ears.

_Goddammit! Who the fuck could be here this late at night? Oh, I'll give 'em a taste of hell for disruptin' my evenin' readin'—_

He jerked the door open, a snarl on his already reddening face, his thick hand gripping the doorknob until his knuckles were turning white. "What the _fuck _do ye wan—"

"Rusty."

His fiery gaze shot up to discover Maleficent in front of him, and for the first time, he bit his tongue and shut his mouth. Dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes, and her normally tall, confident, cocky air was gone, replaced by something much more sorrowful. She usually snapped and threw back retorts at him, but her voice was quiet and tired—highly unusual for his normally energetic worker. It was like something was dragging her down, like the shadows of the night were tugging at her sharp facial features, making her abnormal fatigue much more drained.

He licked his chapped lips and muttered, "Shit, Fairy, you look awful."

If it was a normal day, Rusty would've expected a scowl to come from that, but tonight was different. She didn't even respond to his comment, as if it didn't even register with her.

"Well, whaddaya need, girl? I ain't got all evenin' to stand around."

Maleficent sighed and spoke, her voice weary, like it took all her energy to say just a few words. "I need tomorrow morning off."

Rusty's thick eyebrows capped tightly over his eyes as he squinted at her with a questioning look. "I need ye tomorrow, girl. We've got another fifteen ships comin' in at dawn—"

"_Please._" Maleficent never pleaded for anything, and once he saw the look on her face, Rusty knew it was serious. "I'll come in as soon as I can in the late morning, just…_please—_"

"Aighty, girl, just make sure ye haul ass over to the docks once yer done with…whatever ya need time for."

Relief washed over Maleficent's face. "Thank you, Rusty."

He grunted, and Maleficent turned around to leave. "Fairy!" he called as she was walking away.

She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder.

Rusty frowned a bit and peered at her with concern. "Take care of yourself, Mal."

* * *

_/_ Ha!_ Maleficent thought victoriously, _I _finally_ fooled that old baker and got a nice, warm breakfast—

_ Her thoughts were interrupted as she bumped into something planted firmly into the ground. Stumbling backwards from the impact, she clutched her loaf of bread and rubbed her head, looking up at whatever (or whoever) she ran into._

_ "Sorry! So—" She froze when she recognized the King's crest on the man's chest, and bit her lip when she saw an iron sword hanging at his waist. He was massive, and she had just barreled into his leg._

_ The guard peered down at her with earthy-colored eyes. His face was hard and stiff, his broad shoulders squared straight. His entire stature loomed over her; Maleficent was sure he was considered extremely tall compared to other men. In fact, the more Maleficent stared at him, the tinier she felt. She tried not to squirm in her tattered shoes._

_ "Um…" she looked down at her loaf of bread, which was still warm in her small hands. "I'm s—sorry, sir."_

_ She knew he was aware that it was stolen—the bread. She couldn't outrun him; judging from how long his legs were, he could easily catch up to her in two or three strides. However, the more they stood there, unmoving, the more confused she became. Why wasn't he taking the bread from her? Why wasn't he arresting her? Bravely, she looked up at his taut face. She couldn't read it._

_ Maybe he was hungry, too. Maleficent broke off a piece of the bread and offered it to him, stretching up on her tip-toes, her little arms barely able to reach high enough to his chest. "Want some?"_

_ The guard smiled—it was jerky and crooked, but it was genuine. He took the bread, chewed, and swallowed. Maleficent watched with interest. Each movement of his face lacked the fluidity of a normal person. It tugged and stopped, moved a bit and halted, like it took a lot of strength to bend his features._

_ "Thank you."_

_ His voice was extremely deep, and it shook the ground beneath Maleficent's feet, as if he was drawing it from a bottomless part within his chest. He reminded her of a tree—one of those great oaks that grows out in the forest, thick and tall and old._

_ Maleficent smiled. "You're welcome…um…"_

_ "Balthazar," his voice rumbled._

_ "Balthazar?" Maleficent giggled. "What a curious name." She placed her hands on her hips and took a bite of her bread. "I'm Mal," she announced through a mouthful of food, and jutted her chin up proudly. Balthazar's laugh boomed like a drum in Maleficent's ears, but it was scratchy too, like bark scraping against itself. It was a delightfully pleasant sound._

_"Let's be friends," she proposed, and broke her bread in half to share._

_ And so they were. Balthazar was Maleficent's very first real friend. He didn't talk much, but words weren't necessary between them; some days, when he wasn't busy, he would buy an apple from the market, and they would cut it in half and eat it together. Other days, Maleficent would find where he was posted and let him try different berries she collected on the outskirts of the city._

_ But one day, Balthazar found something very different. /_

* * *

"…Ashes to ashes…"

* * *

/ _"Morning, Balthazar!" Maleficent chirped. She trotted up to where the guard was looking into a dead-end alley, cloaked with shadows. She stopped next to him and squinted, trying to find his subject of interest in the darkness. "What're we looking for?" she asked curiously._

_ "Tell him to go away," a small voice called from the back of the alley. "I ain't done nothing wrong!"_

_ The voice definitely belonged to a child. Maleficent took a step closer and replied, "Don't worry, he won't hurt you."_

_ "But he's hideous!"_

_ Balthazar grunted with a hint of amusement._

_ Maleficent gasped. "Don't listen to him! Balthazar, you are classically handsome." The guard's lips twitched and jerked into a smile, and Maleficent turned her attention back to the alley. "Well, come out! Come out this instant!"_

_ Hesitant footsteps echoed off of the store streets, and from the darkness emerged a scrawny boy with a messy mop of brown hair and a face smeared with dirt._

_ Maleficent studied him for a moment, and then said simply, "Why, you're just a boy."_

_ The boy's eyes observed her with interest. "And you're just a girl." /_

* * *

"…and dust to dust…"

The woman stood stiller than the tombstone as the wooden coffin lowered into the ground.

"…May his soul reunite with our God in Heaven. Amen." The priest, old and wrinkled with age, studied the young woman that stared at the casket that rested in the earth, the sole witness of this guard's burial. He had seen to leading many guards' funerals, but he had never seen one quite as empty as this. He nodded to the gravediggers, who plunged their shovels into the piles of dirt and began filling the hole, and he walked closer to her.

Her face had not changed the entire time he spoke over the corpse; it stayed constantly blank and distant. She did not react to any of his words, any of his prayers. She did not mention how she knew this man; in fact, she never uttered a single word through the entire thing. She was solemn, quiet—her sharp, angled features combined with the presence of death made her seem severe, but that did not deter him from approaching her.

Death and grief changed people, and from what he could tell looking at her gaze, which silently pondered something far away, he knew she had seen it more than once.

"Daughter," he said softly, and was surprised to see her jump at his hushed tone, "do you wish to say anything memorable of this good man?"

Her hands, which rested clasped in front of her, tightened around each other nervously. She blinked and took a deep breath, as if she was gathering all of her strength to speak. "He was kind," she whispered, "kinder than any other man I've ever known." A pause, and she turned her head away slightly, hiding her face. "Like my own father." Suddenly she laughed, startling the gravediggers (laughter was not a common thing in the cemetery), but the priest frowned inwardly. It was cold, and mirthless. The Scripture says that laughter is like a merry medicine, but the laughter of the grieving, he learned, is just a hollow echo of the happiness they once had—however, this particular woman's laughter was the emptiest he had ever heard, like she laughed like this all the time, like it was only a sound that she occasionally made. "What a funny position I'm in," she said grimly, "mourning a guard when they have already committed so many wrongs against me."

He reached out and touched her shoulder, but drew back when she flinched away. "As a priest, I see many who suffer, and my heart grows heavy for them, like my heart is heavy for you." Both of their gazes fell to the half-filled hole. "But sometimes, the Lord puts us in strange situations to open our eyes. And I know that you must go through this to learn something new. I cannot take that experience away from you."

She showed no indication of hearing his guidance, but he continued anyway. Sometimes, it was about planting the seed of hope rather than giving the entire tree to someone. "Shadows cannot exist without sunlight."

Her eyes closed and her mouth tightened—the face of holding back tears. "But I have been in darkness for so long, I cannot see the sun," she whispered nearly inaudibly, "Balthazar was my last ray of light." Her lower lip trembled. "Now he's gone, and I am blind again."

"Daughter," the priest murmured, "all you have to do is step out of the darkness and into the light of day."

"No." She swallowed and inhaled a quavering breath. "I am always in the sunlight. The shadows—they follow me whichever way I walk." When the priest gave her an inquisitive look, she smiled sadly. "Don't you see? I am the darkness, and the darkness is me."

The priest opened his mouth, but she shook her head and spoke before him, her voice stronger this time. "Please, leave me." It wasn't an offer, it was a command—and the priest had no other choice but to comply with her wishes.

He tipped his head down, knowing not to deny the grieving their space. "May the Lord be with you, daughter, and grant you peace."

* * *

As soon as the elderly priest and the gravediggers left, Maleficent's legs quaked, threatening to give in from beneath her.

Everything had suddenly erupted inside of her—memories she left in the darkest corners of her soul emerged, dragging the shadows with them: _her parents' deaths. Surviving on the streets. The boy, and everything that happened between them._

_ The boy. _She turned her head and spat in a physical attempt to get the bitter taste of her memory of him out of her mouth.

Through all of that, through her entire childhood, Balthazar was a steady, quiet ray of light, her tree that she leaned on, even though they hardly talked.

And now the tree had fallen, and she never even had a chance to say goodbye.

Kneeling because her legs could no longer support her, she nearly collapsed into the freshly turned dirt, chest heaving and shaking as she breathed in ragged, audible breaths, tears threatening to spill over as they pricked the corners of her eyes, demanding their freedom. But Maleficent refused to liberate them.

She wouldn't—_didn't _cry, damnit. After that night of failed escape so many years ago, she vowed to herself that she would never shed a tear again.

So far, she had broken that promise only once, and she wasn't going to let it happen a second time—no matter how badly the grief twisted and turned, no matter how tightly the idea of Balthazar's dead body in a wooden coffin tugged at her heart.

Long, slender fingers trembled as they outlined the rough lettering on his tombstone. "Oh, Balthazar…" she whispered, quiet to even the sharpest of ears, "Balthazar…" Her lips twitched as they tried to form a smile, and she pinched her eyes shut. "…what a curious name."

She leaned closer to the dirt and smiled at it sadly. "I'm Mal," she said quietly, but no deep, delightfully scratchy laughter boomed from under the ground, and Balthazar did not rise from it to greet her. A lump twisted in her throat. "Maleficent," she said again, using her full name this time. She never trusted anyone with her full name, and she whispered this into the earth like a forbidden secret. The lack of words between them was always normal, but for some reason this time she hated it—the absence of conversation, the absence of his rough, yet gentle voice.

Maleficent completely crumpled into the fresh dirt, sinking her hands into it and clenching the cool earth tightly, fisting it with all of her _anger_ and _bitterness_ and _sorrow_ as a scream ripped through the silence and burned right into the ground, carrying the dim hope that maybe, just _maybe_, she could be loud enough to awaken Balthazar from his deep slumber, that he would burst up from the soil as her great oak, thick and tall and old.

When she finally ran out of air to scream, she shuddered and inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of the soil, and waited for him to come back, waited to meet a warm, earthy gaze.

Maleficent finally dared to look upwards, and the grief wailed inside her as she found the sky instead of Balthazar's eyes. It was turning a bright, optimistic blue with the coming daylight—but all she could see was that it was empty.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Aurora POV! Yay! I know this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but we're getting somewhere...slowly. This is gonna be a looonnnng fic! Anyways...enjoy the update, beasties. :)**

* * *

Aurora knew she had seen too much.

Was it unwise of her to follow Maleficent to the cemetery and watch the burial? Was it unwise of her to hide behind a tree and watch as Maleficent sunk to the ground and mourned over this man? Was it unwise, even though her eyes seemed unwilling to move and her legs stayed rooted in place?

Perhaps.

But she was so curiously _mystified _by this woman that she wouldn't have undone her actions if she was given the chance.

First, it was just when she was passing through the docks to get to the market—Aurora had been taking in the surroundings: port bells rang distinctly as new ships prepared to enter and exit; crewmembers shouted short commands from across the decks, _"Raise the sails!" "Lower the sails!" "Go starboard!" "We unload here!"_; nets full of silver fish that squirmed and flopped were heaved up out of the water by their fishermen; the wooden piers creaked and groaned under the weight of heavy crates being set down by workers.

And then Aurora saw her. Carrying a massive shipment box, her knuckles were white and her arms were tense and flexed as she walked with firm footsteps to the edge of the pier, down to the main platform. Stray strands of chestnut hair plastered to the sides of her sharply-featured face, which gleamed with sweat. She was tall, she was strong, and she was, in an odd way, strangely captivating.

She set the crate down, wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and turned back down the narrower dock. The woman had not seen Aurora, but Aurora had seen her, and as she adjusted her cloak and continued to the market, heart beating a bit faster in her chest, she couldn't make one, pestering thought go away.

_I have to see her again._

Then, the thought finally manifested itself, and it became a regular part of her day. She generally didn't cut through the docks to get to the market; beforehand, she had always thought it loud and crowded and quite fishy-smelling, but the atmosphere grew on her—the atmosphere of everyone having someone to see or someplace to be was refreshing compared to life at home.

Aurora was tired of the plush carpets that muffled her footsteps and made her seem non-existent. She was tired of the _curtseying_ and the _bowing _and having to hold her hand out _daintily_ and having to dip her head as if she was _grateful _of a greasy man's presence. She was tired of the un-talking paintings that hung on every inch of their walls, and the way that their eyes stared at her as she would sit in, of course, the _sitting-room_, having nothing better to do than gaze out a window and see the world running without her.

Aurora was, above all, tired of the expected _quietness_ she was required to model at all times, tired of having to politely take loads of _bullshit _as if it was so _graciously_ presented to her on a silver platter.

So she borrowed an old, brown cloak from the servants' rooms, hid it in her basket, and told her father she was going to the market. Which she was, of course, but she was going through the Common Quarter of the city, not along the Upper Quarter where the nobles resided.

And when she donned her simple brown cloak, she felt unrestricted, _free_, almost—because commoners were _allowed_ to be clever and crude and loud and boisterous; it was what was anticipated of them. Then, when she entered the docks, she slowly learned to love the bustle and noise. It was foreign to her ears at first; it broke all the rules that were engrained in her mind, and the trained, good noble girl inside of her lifted her nose with slight displeasure upon hearing it. But as she saw all the different faces, which weren't structured in perfect position or posture, and as she listened to everyday conversations and nodded to passers-by, the noble girl inside of her shrugged and laughed, and loved every aspect of the busy atmosphere.

Once she noticed the woman worker at the docks, however, what used to be just a walk through the crowded area became a regular visit. Aurora found a nice little bench and rested there, blue gaze wandering over the great ships and the children that played simple games in the streets, and, when she gathered her courage, sought out the woman that had caught her interest.

She was there every morning—the worker. Sometimes she would be toiling hard, strong arms hefting up box after box; other times she would appear to be the subject of teasing by what Aurora assumed were her fellow workers (occasionally, a woman with unnervingly long nails would flick her ears playfully), but she would only tease them back (she often smacked a tall, muscular man on the back of his head). Sometimes, Aurora would catch her throw her head back in laughter, or jut her chin up in a mockingly defiant pose, and as she picked up on these small mannerisms, Aurora wished to know her _more_.

But she was much too shy to go and speak to her. Luckily, the woman came to her, apologizing about her madman of an employer (Aurora had noticed him too, he was _quite _a character), and she could only smile with amusement as the woman tried to explain the situation.

And when she offered to meet with her later at a tavern, Aurora accepted without a second thought. She didn't like to drink, but an opportunity to learn more about this woman was not an opportunity to be wasted.

_Mal. _It must be short for something, but for what? Nonetheless, it was a charming name and suited her well—and she had the best night at the bar (although she didn't appreciate the men's hounding gazes at her, but that hardly bothered her, considering she learned more about Mal). She discovered a confident, sarcastic, intelligent (and definitely alcohol-resistant) woman, and even though she felt very small and quiet next to her, she loved being in her presence.

Until Mal's mood violently changed in a heartbeat.

Suddenly, the woman that was an interesting combination of _confidence _and _cleverness _and _intelligence _became a figure of cold, bitter stiffness. And Aurora suspected that it had to do with the death of the man that the guards had mentioned; she could see it in her eyes as they stared down the empty glasses of vodka.

Aurora didn't know what had propelled her to follow Maleficent to the cemetery and hide as she watched her mourn. She tried to find out what it was, but she found no answers. Instead, she watched, small, pale hands pressed against rough bark, as Maleficent exchanged words with the priest and waited for everyone to leave until she collapsed with such _force _to the ground, Aurora thought she would fall right through the earth with the dead that rested below.

And the heart-wrenching scream that tore through the air and barreled straight through the grave made Aurora's heart stop and eyes sting with tears.

Was it unwise to have witnessed this?

Aurora shook her head as she carefully made her way through the cemetery unseen. It didn't matter now—Aurora couldn't take it back, and she had no desire to if she could.

Maleficent was two extremes: one side of her was extremely confident and strong, and the other side, the side she had just seen, was bitter and sorrowful. And _empty._ Aurora had seen an _emptiness _that she couldn't describe. Emptiness was formless; it bore no shape, no color, no texture—and Maleficent's emptiness was something that followed her everywhere she went.

She wove her way through the graves. The more Aurora thought about it, the more it made sense. When she looked into Maleficent's eyes, a darkness crept in them, and when Maleficent's laugher filled the air, it sounded hollow and harsh.

_What,_ Aurora wondered as she entered another portion of the cemetery, _could have possibly happened to Mal to make her this way?_

She sighed. It bothered her, but she knew she wasn't going to find out anytime soon.

Besides, she had her own graves to visit.


	6. Chapter 6

"Quit fooling around, Cat. Give it here."

"Nuh-uh, Fairy. Gotta tell me what's in it, first."

"No. Seriously, just give it back."

"Well, if you're not gonna tell me—"

"—Cat, I'm not fucking around—"

"—Obviously not in a while if you're _this _grumpy."

"Fuck off, that wasn't funny—"

"—_Tsk_. Fairy, I only do that if someone's watching."

"Damnit, Cat, it's too early in the morning for this, just give it back!"

"I'll stop if you tell me what's inside it—"

"—Are you _always _this bitchy?—"

"—Are you _always _this paranoid? And I prefer the term '_catty'_—"

The signature furious glare of death had been steadily burning a hole through Cat for the past two and a half minutes, but she only turned her nose up and narrowed her eyes at Maleficent with amusement. Long nails pinched the small, dirtied box as if it were a rare jewel being appraised. It had slipped and fallen out of an inner fold in Maleficent's shirt, and before she had the chance to grab it, Cat snatched it up like a feline pounces on a mouse.

And even though Maleficent was a good three or four inches taller than her, Cat stood unwavering, jerking the box out of reach each time Maleficent tried to take it back. Her long, black hair cascaded down in waves, framing her slim face, and her eyes, more yellow than green, peered at the box with mild interest. A slinky smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth. She _was _inquisitive (to a degree) of the contents of the box, but right now, she was enjoying seeing Maleficent's wrath begin to boil.

"Give me the damn thing back and I'll buy you as many drinks as you want."

"Does that come with dinner before? And sex after? I have an orderly system I like to follow."

A hiss. "Christ, just shut your bloody mouth."

An eyebrow arched. Her yellowy gaze stopped studying the box and met Maleficent's furious glare nonchalantly. "You wouldn't be saying that if my mouth was on _you_."

"_Oh, for fuck's sake!—_"

"—I'm considering giving the box back to you, if it's for the sake of fucking."

"Do you _ever _stop—"

"—Usually. I went for three days straight once, though. _That _was a wild ride." She winked.

An exasperated sigh. "Cat, you're impossible."

"It's a quality that I take satisfaction in."

"Do you even _care _about the box anymore, or are you just fucking around with me?"

Cat forced herself to suppress a laugh. Maleficent was too angry to realize that the more she kept using 'fuck' and all its variations, the longer this would last. And she could easily keep this up _all day._ "Mmm…" She held the box up a little, as if it were a gem catching rays of light. "…I suppose so, but I don't think I'm fucking around with you. We can do _that_ later, though, if you're so _pushy_ about it, Fairy."

Maleficent threw her arms up and dragged her hands across face. "I can't deal with this shit anymore. I'm too tired. Just give me back the goddamn box."

Her voice drawled like a chastising mother. "What do you _say?_"

"Please," Maleficent muttered, exhausted.

"And?"

The furious glare of death was beginning to resurface. "There's an _'and'? _What the hell _else_ am I supposed to say?"

Cat cleared her throat. "'Please', _and Cat is a beautiful, gracious sex goddess._"

Maleficent's face screwed up as she scowled. "What the _fuck_, Cat?!"

"An appropriate question for the sex goddess. What the fuck, _indeed._ I'm interpreting that as a crude way of asking 'what _to _fuck'…in which case, the answer is _me_." She punctuated her point by placing her hands on her hips and striking the most exaggerated, sexual pose possible, while giving Maleficent the most _smoldering _look she could muster. All for effect, of course.

Now that all of this _fucking _was being mentioned and thrown about in conversation, Cat looked Maleficent up and down. She wouldn't _mind _sleeping with her. The thought never really crossed her before. But Maleficent was a stubborn thing—some of the workers even joked that if she got any more stubborn, she'd begin growing a big pair of horns out of her head (to which Maleficent simply gave an indignant _huff _at the notion), and, well, Cat knew that the opportunity would never present itself. She didn't really _care_ that it wouldn't, but if it ever _did_ by some miracle, she was sure it would be interesting.

(Let's face it. Cat was, is, and always will be a horny little thing. Although she _was _picky about who she slept with (she wouldn't just sleep with any old bum off the street), her peers joked about how she acted like a 'cat in heat', pun intended. They used that phrase interchangeably: "you're acting like a cat in heat!" or "you're acting like a Cat in heat!" meant the exact same thing. Cat prided herself in it.)

"Fine!" Maleficent threw her hands up and acquiesced. "Cat is a beautiful, gracious sex goddess." She ended up mumbling the last bit under her breath.

Cat gave Maleficent's shoulder a little shove. "Come on now, Fairy, with _enthusiasm!_"

Louder this time, but with more sarcasm: "Cat is a _beautiful_, _gracious_ sex goddess." Her tone implied the opposite, but Cat didn't care—she got her fill of fun for the day.

She smiled with smug approval. "That I am. Thank you, dear—"

"Don't call me that," Maleficent snapped, and snatched the box from her long nails. She tucked it carefully back into her shirt. "Now get back to work, before Rusty starts yelling at us. I don't need another headache to drink away tonight." She turned back towards the ship and began walking down the narrow pier. Cat followed.

"Ooh, _dominant_ and _commanding._ I've always had a kink for that."

Maleficent bent down to pick up a crate. "Really? Then I _order _you to go jump off a cliff."

"If it's coming down from the peak of _pleasure_, I'll be glad to."

Cat didn't have to see Maleficent's face to feel the eye roll. She laughed and hefted up a shipment, and they both made their way down to the main platform. Cat couldn't help it—Mal was so _easy _to tease, it was almost pathetic.

"—'nd I can't be havin' a lil' lady like ya comin' 'round here 'nd makin' a dis…dis-a-_rupt-ment_ out of my estab-il-ish-a-ment!—"

Cat and Maleficent simultaneously sighed.

"He begins over-enunciating his syllables when he's stressed," Maleficent groaned. "Better go see what all the ruckus is about."

She narrowed her eyes. Mal generally let Rusty go off on his own (in fact, everyone avoided Rusty when he was exploding), and…well, to put yourself between Rusty and the victim of his craziness was like walking right into a volcano in mid-eruption. And judging from her extra-stiff, extra-cold attitude this morning, she was in no shape to handle Rusty's explosive demeanor.

But Cat just shrugged. _Let her go on a suicide mission. And if she comes back alive, I guess we'll end up dubbing her _Saint Fairy.

She continued to unload more crates from the ship, making sure to keep an eye on Maleficent as she walked down to the main platform. _That _on its own caught Rusty's attention. A worker coming to the main platform without a crate? A worker who wasn't actually working? Cat was sure his blood pressure was past borderline unhealthy at this point (but again, Rusty flipped shit for no reason), and even though she was pretty far away, she could practically _see _the veins in his neck bulging out.

"—what're ye doin' Fairy?! I don't give a two-three-four-five shits, ye need ta get back o'er to that there ship! I need it done with-in the next hour!—"

For such a little man, Rusty's voice sure did carry far.

"—Don't "_Rustyyyy" _me! Get yer arse back to that ship!—"

A petite girl dressed in a simple brown cloak moved her gaze between them silently as they argued. That was probably Rusty's victim. How old was she? Eighteen, nineteen? Couldn't be more than nineteen. Blonde hair peeked out of her hood, and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously as Mal and Rusty continued to—well, Rusty continued to shout and Maleficent continued to sternly address him like he was a child having a temper tantrum.

She set a shipment down. Wait, was that girl coming over _here?_ A quick glance over to Maleficent, who was pointing at her (supposedly directing the little blondie), confirmed her suspicions.

Cat couldn't suppress a smirk. She didn't have to have talked to her before to know that this girl was harmless as a fly and quiet as a mouse.

And cats _love _mice.

"So," Cat said slyly as she sat down on a crate, "I'm guessing Fairy sent you over here for me to watch while she chewed out here last bit of anger with Rusty?"

The girl nodded shyly.

"Well." She gestured to the empty space next to her. "This could take a matter of minutes or days." A wide, white smile accompanied by a set of particularly prominent canine teeth flashed at the girl. "Sit, please."

She took a seat beside Cat (who at this point looked more like a prowling lioness) and tentatively placed her hands in her lap, looking down sheepishly.

A long-nailed finger caught Aurora's chin and tilted it upwards to her yellowy gaze. "So, does a pretty girl like you have a name, by any chance?"

The girl's deep blue eyes flicked around, looking anywhere _except _directly at Cat. "Aurora," she said softly.

Cat tasted the name on her lips like it was milk. "Aurora…" The smirk that had maintained itself on Cat's face spread wider. "A charming name. I'm Catherine, but everyone around here calls me Cat." She didn't wait for Aurora's reply. "So, I'm going to assume you're a friend of Mal. How does that work? She's a stubborn goat, that one."

"I guess you could call it that," Aurora said, looking back down at her hands once Cat released her. "More like an acquaintance. We kind of met in a similar situation. Rusty was trying to get me to leave. Mal offered to buy me a drink to make up for it, and that's how I know her—"

An eyebrow arched in surprise. "_Really?_ Mal isn't the one to spend her pay on strangers." Aurora fidgeted, and she smiled. This was too easy. She let her foot wander over to Aurora's calf. "But I guess you're no _ordinary_ stranger, hmm?"

"Alright, Cat, I'm back and Rusty says we're on break—" Maleficent exchanged looks with Aurora, and by judging from the expression on Mal's face, she knew Aurora looked terrified.

"God, I leave you for five minutes and you've already scared her half to death. Can't you keep your paws to yourself for _once?_" That statement was followed by a kick in the shin. Cat winced.

"A little curiosity never hurt anyone," she muttered, rubbing her leg. "That was more than a light kick. It's gonna bruise."

"You obviously don't mind bruises in _other_ places," Maleficent smirked. "Plus, you know what they say…" She sat down on another crate and pulled out a flask from her shirt, unscrewed it, and took a drink. "…curiosity killed the cat."

Cat's lips curled into a smile, revealing a shining white row of teeth and a set of sharp canines. "Well, I'm not dead yet, am I?"

"You will be if you keep your little antics up."

"I've always liked a few threats thrown around in bed. It makes things _exciting._"

"Could you not? We have a guest here."

"A _'__guest_'? What are we, a husband and a wife entertaining company?"

"I'm just asking that you try not to be so crude in front of strangers."

"So we _are_, hmm? I can think of quite a few ways I could entertain _her—_"

"—Keep that thought to yourself, please."

"But what _fun _we would have if we shared!"

"Cat, I'm warning you—"

"—What are you going to do? Punish me? Spank me? _Kinky_. I didn't know you had it in you, Fairy."

Aurora's eyes were wide like a deer in the crosshairs of a hunter's bow at this point, blue eyes darting back and forth between the two arguing women. Maleficent, growing more agitated by the second, saw this and sighed. "Look, Cat, you've already scarred her."

"I think the word _corrupted _is much more appropriate."

"Cat, _nothing_ you say is ever appropriate."

"An astute observation—"

The conversation came to a halt upon the entrance of a young, muscular man, who sat down rather clumsily on a large box. Maleficent and Cat groaned simultaneously.

"Rusty said we're on break. I just finished unloadin' _The Pretty Pony_ over there yonder. Who names a ship with the likes of that grand stature _The Pretty Pony?_ It's stupid 'nd ridiculous, I tell ya—"

Cat smacked the side of his knee. He closed his mouth for a few moments, then opened it again as if nothing had happened. "Who's this littl' lady? Never seen a girl with the looks of you 'round here. She have a name?"

Aurora blushed sheepishly. "Aurora," she murmured, grateful to have a distraction from the blatant crudeness of Cat. "Nice to meet you."

He flashed a toothy grin. "I'm John, but ev'ryone calls me Pest because I talk too much, apparently. Though I don't think so. Ev'ryone here is just a herd of stingy old goats. Say, why're your cheeks that pretty pink? Are they like that all the time? I could see 'em like that from the main platform."

This caused Aurora only to blush harder. "I think it's because of the recent topic of conversation, John."

"Please, miss little Rosie, call me Pest. It's not the least bit offensive in the slightest."

Cat looked at John with two arched eyebrows. "_Rosie?"_

"Mmhmm. Her cheeks are always flushed that pretty pink, it reminds me of two roses. And what's the recent topic o' conversation? I hope it ain't finance. I hate finance. 'Nd _cats_." He narrowed his eyes at Cat, who only shrugged.

"The recent topic of conversation is one I would _not _like to get back on," Maleficent muttered.

"I can think of quite a few things I would like to get on," Cat chirped.

"_Stop."_

"Only if you use the safeword."

"Jesus Christ, Cat!"

"That's not the safeword we agreed on. Try again."

"Abra-ca-fucking-dabra."

"Only if you want me to work my magic."

"No! Cat, just—"

"Aw, you're begging now. How satisfying for the master of teasing."

"I'll tell you what's in the box if you stop."

This caught Cat's attention. "Ooh, really? Okay, okay, allow me to consider this…" A moment of silence. Pest looked at Maleficent, Maleficent looked at Pest, Pest looked at Aurora, Aurora looked at Pest, Aurora looked at Maleficent, and Maleficent looked at Aurora. Everyone looked at Cat. Finally, the words of reprieve. "Alrighty. Tell me, and I'll stop."

"You really want to know what's in the box?"

"Yes, you dipshit. I thought I already said that."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

Maleficent smirked. "A dick. A dick is in this box."

Like the feline she freakishly resembled, Cat launched herself out of her seat and tackled Maleficent down to the ground, but it was obvious that Mal didn't care anymore. She laughed right in the face of the furious lioness, she laughed as the nails dug into her skin, and she laughed as she went down, easily rolling with Cat so she pinned her to the pier. The dark-haired woman squirmed and hissed, but Maleficent only sneered. By this point, Pest had burst into a fit of deep chuckles, and Aurora looked on with a combination of bizarre horror.

All of this combined with Rusty's infuriated shouting of _"Quit that goddamned canoodling!" _and _"Fuck's sake, Cat, I thought I told ye no screwin' around, lit-er-ally or fig-a-ur-tiv-e-ly on my docks!"_ made for the perfect representation of a normal day.

"Must be a tiny dick if it can fit in that box," Cat jeered, her yellowy gaze narrowing at Maleficent. "Who'd you get it from? Pest?"

John covered his crotch with his hands protectively.

"Don't drag him into this, he doesn't deserve it." Maleficent reconsidered that for a moment. "Okay, maybe he _does, _but we can save that for a later time." She rose and lent Cat a hand, who stuck her tongue out at it childishly.

"I'm sorry for not following, but…"

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to Aurora, who had been quiet the entire time.

She eyed the crates around them warily. "…Box?"

In a loud chorus, the three burst into laughter, which only appeared to confuse Aurora more. "Don't worry about it, Aurora," Maleficent smiled, and gestured for her to follow. "Come on, I'll show you around, and get you away from these two idiots for a while."

"Hey!" Cat protested. "Pest is the idiot around here. _I'm _the sex goddess, remember?"

"Beautiful, gracious, and idiotic is a rather charming combination, I'm told."

"Whatever. Have fun with your little lovebird Rosie, Mal."

* * *

**A/N: **A bit more lighthearted this chapter, yeah? Yays. I thought you guys needed a bit of relief from the angst. And some fluff is on the way! Character and relationship development! Huah!

Also, I expected Cat to be more of a side character, but then she turned into...this. I don't really know what to do with her, to be honest. She's..._something. _*laughs* So, would you guys like to see more of Cat? Let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

Pest did well in choosing a nickname. Aurora _was _one hell of a blusher. No matter what Maleficent said or did, it seemed that the girl's cheeks were always lightly flushed, blue eyes accompanying them by flickering down in shyness.

It was, in fact, pretty adorable. Innocently charming.

"Do you do that all the time?" Maleficent asked as she led Aurora down a narrower dock, who was following close beside.

Of course, a little bit of pink glowed on her soft cheeks, and she replied quietly, "Do what?"

"_That_." Maleficent tapped a cheek with a finger. "Blush."

Maleficent was not surprised to see more pink after that comment. Completely avoiding the question, Aurora countered, "Do you?"

"Do I what? Blush?"

They narrowly evaded three fishermen hauling up a net of fish. "Yes. Blush."

"What makes you think I don't blush?"

"Nothing. I was just asking."

"_Well_," Maleficent huffed as she lifted her chin a bit in the air, "you're right. I don't blush."

"Surely, you do."

"I do not. It is a well-known fact." They weaved through a maze of haphazardly-placed crates. Maleficent made a note to straighten those out later, and to chew out whoever left them there. When the dock widened a little, she turned around and lowered her voice. "Don't tell anyone this," she whispered, "but not even _Cat _can make me blush."

A gleam of curiosity twinkled in Aurora's eyes. "And why shouldn't anyone know this?"

Maleficent snorted. "Because if Cat found out someone can't be subjected to her charms, it'll hurt her big fat ego. She'll be relentless in her jokes with me for weeks." She rubbed the sides of her temples. "Cat is like Rusty. I can only take so much of her per day before I spend all of my pay drinking off a massive headache."

The giggles that bubbled into the air were so light and airy that Maleficent almost smiled.

She took a deep breath of salty sea air and exhaled slowly. There was something so _calming _about being with Aurora. It wasn't stressful and sarcastic like being around Cat; it wasn't that annoying-friendliness that Pest had; it wasn't the dry humor like Diaval (although she was very close friends with him, this was different). It was as if everything around her slowly melted away. The shadows didn't look so dark, the night didn't seem so overwhelming, the sun didn't seem so harsh. Everything in its extremes was toned down softer, made warmer, quieter. There were no questions. Aurora showed no sign of wanting to know every detail of her past. She was simply _there_, making the most of the _present._

Maybe Maleficent needed to start doing that. Making the most of the present.

But what _was _there to make of the present? All she knew was her past. She could go over and over that in every element and feature. That was what made her _her. _The past was something solid, something set in stone, no matter how painful, that she could hold onto. It was something she could go back on, something she could find reasons for her actions and learn from.

Like _trust no one._

The present was fleeting. The present was always moving. The future became the present, the present exists for one short, small moment, and then it moves on to become the past, to build upon the history of her life. How could she make the most of the present if the _when _became the _now _and the _now _became the _then?_ How could she make the most of the present if its existence was so tiny that she couldn't catch it?

If she couldn't catch it, she couldn't hold it, and she couldn't examine it, couldn't observe it, and couldn't make anything of it.

Then again, we really don't know what's going on in the present until it becomes the past, do we?

She struggled with this, but Aurora seemingly didn't. And Maleficent wanted to know how. But she was never going to find out, because her number one rule above _never cry_ was _trust no one_, and no matter how nice and sweet and kind Aurora seemed, she couldn't risk it.

Appearances are deceiving. She wasn't going to ignore that truth twice.

With a silent start, Maleficent realized the long walk down the pier had fallen into a silence. As carefully as she could, she shifted her gaze over to Aurora, to see if she showed any signs of awkward discomfort.

She didn't, which was a surprise. Aurora looked upon the towering ships with wonder and curiosity wider than the colossal main sails that the boats donned with pride. Her gaze traveled over the different flags and the faces of different-looking people as if she had never seen any of this before. A man with ebony skin flashed a warm smile and waved at her. She laughed and waved back.

(Let's face it. Aurora was a quiet ball of sunshine that didn't have to say anything to make someone smile.)

"Are there more people like that?"

Two perfect eyebrows pinched together. "Like what?"

"Like him."

Green eyes threw a questioning glance to Aurora. "What about him?"

The look in her eyes was just as questioning. "I've never seen a man with skin that dark."

_Is she joking?_ No, her expression betrayed that notion. "You've _never_ seen an African?"

Blonde curls bounced lightly as she shook her head no.

"Sheltered life," Maleficent muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Aurora's pink lips pouted outwards. "Tell me."

A sigh. "I'm just surprised that you've never seen an African. In a certain portion of the year, their ships come up loaded with salt and different patterned hides, hand-crafted trinkets and decorations, hand-woven rugs, sometimes exotic meat or animals." Maleficent's tone grew annoyed at the _animals_ part. Unloading live animals was a chore, especially when claws fought through the cage bars to rip your arms off. "Anyways, their products are of very fine quality. Everyone comes down to see them. Their country is far away, though. That's why they don't come here year-round. It takes a while to get here, but they make their keep."

Aurora pointed to the large boat that docked beside the pier. "Is this one of their ships?"

Maleficent checked the flag. "Yes." She gestured for Aurora to follow. "And we're going to unload it."

"Wait," Aurora stopped walking, "_we?_"

"Yes, _we_. You put Rusty in a fit, you're going to help me unload." It was more of an excuse for Aurora to stay, Maleficent figured out later on, than it was about Rusty. But that didn't matter, did it? "Besides, I can't have Rusty yelling at you while I work. I might as well save you from dealing with the wrath of Hell itself."

Another bundle of giggling floated into the air, and this time, Maleficent did smile, a little. "Come on, let me show you what's on deck."

Wooden planks shuddered as they boarded the ship, and the crew, clothed in thin cotton shirts, nodded politely in greeting. Maleficent nodded back. Aurora waved. They smiled.

Maleficent raised a hand in a form of a wave, and a man approached. "Afrikaans, Somali, Arabic, Swahili, Berber, Amharic, Oromo, Hausa, Igbo, Fulani, or Yoruba?" she asked. Aurora turned to her, eyes wide.

"_Afrikaans_," the man replied, his dark eyes warm and twinkling. "_Hallo_."

"_Hallo_," she answered, "_waar is die kratte?_"

"_Onder die dek,_" the man pointed to an old door. "_Maarons het ook 'n paar bo, na die agterkant._"

"_Dankie,_" Maleficent nodded again and began walking towards the door, beckoning Aurora to follow.

"You know _all _of those languages?" Aurora asked with awe once they began descending a creaky stairwell.

Maleficent laughed. "When you work at the docks every day, it's easy to pick up languages. When it comes to African languages, I only know Afrikaans, Hausa, and Arabic the best. The others, just greetings and basic questions."

"So you could hold a conversation with those three languages pretty well?"

"Very well," Maleficent corrected her. "I'm fluent in Italian, Spanish, and French. Those are all closely tied together, so it wasn't hard. Dutch and Afrikaans are related too, but they don't come in as often as Spanish, Italian, and French ships, so I'm _almost_ fluent." When she saw the complete shock in Aurora's expression, she laughed again. "You have a lot to learn. Maybe if you come here more often, you'll begin picking up other languages, too."

For some reason, Aurora blushed at that, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. "So I can come here again?"

They reached the bottom of the stairwell. Maleficent grabbed a lamp and lit it, illuminating the darkness of the cargo hold with a small flame.

_She's excited to come here again?_ "Of course," Maleficent said, peering at her. "Most girls don't like the docks." She scowled. "They'd rather be playing damsel with the soldiers that march through here." Studying Aurora's unreadable expression, she added, "Wouldn't you? Instead of being around a bunch of fishy-smelling men and sweating workers and crowded piers?"

The new expression that donned Aurora's face was not what she expected. It was the opposite of the little ball of sunshine. It was the opposite of the girl that made everything softer, quieter, warmer. The shadows that were formed by the flame of the lamp made Aurora's face _harsh _and _severe,_ and for a second, she was unwillingly forced back to a moment in time where a guard opened a door and shoved a lamp into a pitch-black carriage. She fought the urge to throw down the lantern and run.

Despite the darkness in Aurora's face, it was her soothing, hushed voice that brought her back to reality and quelled the regret that boiled inside her for saying the wrong thing.

"No," she answered gently, and everything slowly became soft and quiet and warm again. (Maleficent was surprised that Aurora could respond that tenderly given the anger she had just witnessed not a moment ago.) "No, I would rather be here." She sat down on a crate and folded her hands into her lap, gazing out a small porthole. "Look."

Maleficent found her feet guiding her towards Aurora, and she found her eyes peering out the small, round window with her. Together, they watched as the docks bustled like a living creature, hundreds and hundreds of people moving as one, each doing individual tasks, competing for each others' attention: fishermen and workers and merchants and all, filled with commoners passing-by. The ocean waves lapped up at the porthole, swaying the bottom of the boat. Wooden pillars, governed by the barnacle growths at their bases, creaked mildly in protest.

Even though the cargo hold was stuffy, cramped, filled with boxes, and only dimly illuminated by the weak daylight trickling through the porthole and the flame of the lantern, and even though the muffled, heavy footsteps of the men above them shook the planks above them, Maleficent never felt so far away from the world here, with Aurora.

It felt like a secret, this moment. It felt like a guilty pleasure she wasn't allowed to have, this moment of _happiness_, like if she told someone, she would be scolded for it or she would be made to give it back, as if she had stolen something.

That made Maleficent think.

"It's beautiful," Aurora murmured, gaze unwavering from the scene before them. Only then did Maleficent realize how close their faces were when Aurora's warm breath ghosted her cheek. Her breath hitched quietly, but Aurora didn't seem to notice, and continued talking. "All the different people, different lives, different conversations…the buzz of it all is exciting." The twinkle in Aurora's eyes glimmered like the sun shining on the ocean they floated on. "I learn something new every day I walk through to go to the market. Everyone is so interesting. They have things to do, places to go, people to see…" Suddenly her gaze fell to her lap, and the glistening dulled. "It's wonderful. I wish I could stay here. And…"

Aurora trailed off quietly, as if she wished to say more, but then decided not to.

It was intriguing, this girl's positive outlook on the docks. "What else?"

Maleficent could feel the air around them rush past her face as Aurora drew a breath. "You will think me silly," she said, turning her head away, giving Maleficent an angled view of one flushed cheek.

"I won't," Maleficent promised. "Come on, tell me." She tapped Aurora's cheek playfully. "_Rosie_."

Maleficent wasn't sure if Aurora's cheeks could get any more pink, but if they could, they did at the mention of her nickname. The girl avoided Maleficent's gaze and switched between looking out of the window and down in her lap as she spoke. "I…I like the docks because I…" Aurora grew so quiet, she nearly had to strain to hear the last part. "…because I met you." Now, golden hair curtained a soft face as Aurora hid from her, fingers nervously playing in her lap. Another whisper drifted into the musty air. "I mean, walking around the docks is nice, but doing it with someone you know makes it better."

To be honest, Maleficent didn't know what to say. All she could think of was Diaval's words from last night: _She didn't come here for a free drink._

_ She came here for you._

Thank God that Aurora wasn't looking at her, because if she was, she would've bore witness to the one thing Maleficent swore she never did.

Blush.

"Well, I'm glad," was all she could manage in her shock.

And even though she couldn't see Aurora's face, she could feel her smile.

The stairwell creaked, and both Aurora and Maleficent jolted at the unexpected sound, even though it was quiet. Their fingers brushed past each other, and the glow of Aurora's cheeks could've illuminated the entire cargo hold. "_Is alles okay?_" a familiar voice called from the stairs.

"_Ja, ons is fyn_," Maleficent called back, "_dankie vir die vraag."_

"What did he say?" Aurora asked, cheeks still not fully recovered from their reddened state.

"He was wondering if we were alright," Maleficent answered as she rose from the crate, and walked over to a few boxes near the stairs. "I've got to unload, anyway." She watched as Aurora made her way over, carrying the lantern, and it confused Maleficent how the light of a flame that once made her look so severe made her look so eerily beautiful instead.

_What?_

She shook that thought off as quickly as she could. "Want to help?"

"Oh," Aurora squeaked as Maleficent picked up a heavy crate, eyes landing on her arms rather than her face (this, too, confused Maleficent). "I'm…I'm not very strong."

"Sure you are." Maleficent jerked her head to a nearby pile. "Try one."

Hesitantly, Aurora walked over to the stack and wiped her hands against her cloak, then grabbed both sides of the top box and hefted it off.

The poor girl nearly crushed her toes.

A row of teeth that, for a moment, seemed more menacing than friendly, made an appearance as Maleficent laughed. "Okay, okay, bad idea on my part. How about you just carry the lantern? It'll make it easier on my eyes.

Obviously embarrassed, Aurora bit her lip and avoided eye contact. "But I want to help."

"You'll be helping, trust me," Maleficent assured her, "it'll be better if I can prevent tripping and breaking something…or setting the ship on fire." Aurora looked at her, eyes wide. Another not-so-hollow laugh escaped into the air. "I almost did that, once, when I was a rookie. I was stupid enough to try to carry it instead of strapping it to my waist." It also earned her a _hell_ of a headache from Rusty. It didn't go away for _days_.

"But if you can carry it on your own," Aurora asked, eyebrows creasing, "why do you want me to hold it?"

Maleficent was surprised at how quickly and naturally her next words came out. "Like you said, walking around the docks is nice, but doing it with someone else is better."

* * *

**A/N:** Yay! I finally was able to post another chapter...and more yay! Malora bonding time! :D I know its a slow burn, but it's something, right? Ye. Next chapter is gonna be more Aurora POV, and hopefully a little insight on what her home life is like. Hurrah!

Throughout the story, I'm gonna be trying to incorporate the diversity of the docks (I think it makes it a little more interesting and realistic)...which will involve a lot of languages. I've only taken Spanish, and obviously I used google translate for the whole Afrikaans thing. If you speak another language very well/fluently, please let me know! I could use you in future chapters for more language accuracy. (Also, if someone happens to speak Afrikaans and sees errors in the translations, please let me know, because I wanna fix it!) Thanks for reading and stay tuned, beasties :)


	8. Chapter 8

_Like you said, walking around the docks is nice, but doing it with someone else is better._

It was evening. The sun was slowly creeping back under the horizon, igniting the sky in a canvas of pinks and purples in its wake, and Aurora walked the rest of her way home with those words repeating over and over in her mind.

She had skipped going to the market today. Doing something as menial as carrying the lantern while Mal unloaded crate after crate onto the main docks was, for some reason, much more enjoyable than browsing petty items she wouldn't be using in the next two months. Besides, she had the loveliest company, even though they were silent most of the time. Sometimes a small topic of conversation popped up, and they discussed it with soft words and occasional laughter.

The dark-skinned men, the Africans, were friendly and kind as well, and a little bit more talkative than Mal. Some of them knew English, but most of them spoke Afrikaans or another African language, and since Mal was busy carrying crates to the end of the pier, Aurora usually smiled and laughed as they tried to communicate in broken English, and as they tried to teach her their language (and as she tried to teach them hers). Oftentimes, they would show her different trinkets, beautifully handcrafted and of many colors, and describe (with as much English as they could) the purpose and the backstory of each.

_"This one made in little town," a man with a scar down his cheek told her. He had held out a small carving of a strange, long-necked animal. "Wood taken from baobab tree. Carved by tribe-folk."_

_ "What animal is it?" Aurora had asked the question with such intrigued curiosity as she guided her fingers over the smooth wood._

_ "Called karmeelperd in Afrikaans," he said with a frown, "I do not know word in English."_

_ "Giraffe," Mal piped in, wiping her brow. A smile was in her eyes. "They say that they're as tall as the trees."_

_ "Really?" Aurora turned to the man, and he nodded. "How?"_

_ "Made that way," the man explained, and held up the little giraffe, "Represent vision. Protection. Gentle spirit." His large hands placed the giraffe in her small ones, and he closed her hands over it. "Keep, please."_

_ "Oh, I can't—"_

_ His hands were warm and kind on hers as he closed her grasp on the figurine tighter. "You can. Please, I see these things in you: vision, protection, and gentle spirit. Keep as gift. You have been kind to our people. Many are not. Sometimes, we are not even kind to ourselves."_

_ She looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but genuine gratitude. "Dankie," she thanked with a grin. The man laughed merrily, "Good! She learn quick," he said to Mal, and this time, she smiled with both her eyes and her mouth._

_ That made Aurora's heart warm._

Running a thumb over the wood again, Aurora held the small ornament securely in her hand as she walked. _I see these things in you. Vision. Protection. Gentle spirit._

Funny how a man that barely knew English could make her so happy and gleeful without wanting to court her, without wanting to kiss her hand or spill out a thousand eloquently empty words strung together in a meaningless tapestry.

Her boots crunched on early fallen autumn leaves. She always loved autumn. It was her favorite season. The air was crisp and cool, the world erupted into a wonderful palette of fiery oranges and yellows and reds, and everything, even though it was going dormant, was _fresh_. She toyed with the little giraffe and clutched it to her chest.

_Walking around the docks is nice, but doing it with someone else is better._

_ Vision. Protection. Gentle spirit._

_ You have been kind to our people. Many are not. Sometimes, we are not even kind to ourselves._

_ That time, Mal smiled with both her eyes and her mouth._

"Aurora!"

She jerked out of her thoughts to find a shorter brunette girl walking quickly to her and waving. She lifted a hand and waved back, a polite smile on her face. "Charlotte!"

Charlotte, in short, was Aurora's only decent friend around the Upper Quarter. She was a nice enough girl, though a bit spoiled, and swooned a bit too much over young men, but she gave Aurora good enough company for the days she couldn't go to the market.

She nodded her head. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thanks. And you?" Charlotte's bonnet was lopsided. Aurora giggled and fixed it for her, which earned her swatting hands. "Stop that! It's a new trend." She promptly set it back into its improper place.

"What, to wear your bonnet like a vagabond?" Aurora teased, and pushed Charlotte's nose with an index finger.

"Nonsense. Fashion is evolving, and I'm at the top of the game." She offered an arm, and Aurora took it. "Shall we?"

"We shall." They began their stroll together, and it looked like Charlotte couldn't help but ask, "So, where were you? You look a bit dirtied."

"Market," Aurora lied, but it was an easy lie. "It was busy today."

"I never bother with that market claptrap," Charlotte sniffed, "why do you like going down there anyways? It's crowded and sticky and cramped." She barely gave Aurora any time to reply before going on, "You should join me and Sarah one day. We go down to the barracks to get a sneak peek at the young, strapping men that go in and out. _I _want to talk to one, but Sarah is too shy."

Aurora fought the urge to grit her teeth together.

_Wouldn't you? Instead of being around a bunch of fishy-smelling men and sweating workers and crowded piers?_

She knew that her sudden change in demeanor earlier that day had upset Mal. She didn't _mean _to. For a moment, Aurora thought that Mal had the notion that she was like the other noblewomen, like _Charlotte._ Aurora wasn't a girl that spent every second of her life looking for the safety of a man. She wanted to see other things, _new _things, instead of the "duties" she was expected to perform.

Like marry a man that she didn't love, for example. Or marry at all. Marriage meant being bound to countless pointless obligations and, least favorably, to your class.

But she also knew that Mal didn't mean it, and she was over-thinking things. It was good that they had a nice rest of the day.

Unfortunately, Charlotte was slowly beginning to ruin it. "No," she politely responded, "I like going to the market because of things that come in from all over the world. It's interesting to see different wares that aren't made here." Maybe she could get Charlotte to understand by telling _her_ something new. "You know what _I_ saw today?"

Nothing _couldn't _pipe Charlotte's curiosity. "Do tell."

"I saw a man with dark skin," she said with excitement, "and he had a funny accent when he spoke English, but it was a delightful sound. It was deep and thick but smooth, too, and he was so kind—"

They stopped because Charlotte stopped, who had unhooked her arm from Aurora's. "You saw an _African?_" she gaped, eyes wide.

"Yes," Aurora smiled, "they're a gentle people—"

"You _talked_," Charlotte interrupted, and Aurora noted with dread that disgust was beginning to creep into her tone, "to an _African?_"

_You have been kind to our people. Many are not._

Uh-oh.

Charlotte gripped her wrist and yanked her in close. "I do _awfully_ hope you don't take offense to this, Aurora," she hissed, "but you might not want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Why _not?_" (Aurora was confused by Charlotte's dumbfounded surprise, as if the reason was clearly obvious.) "Because they're _Africans_," she whispered, the name falling like poison off her lips. "Aurora, if I were you, I would stay well away. You're already a cut-robe noble, and to add interaction with _Africans _to that list isn't good for your reputation."

Right. Things like _reputation_ and _manner _and _class _mattered more than the hearts of people in the Upper Quarter. Aurora was a cut-robe noble: a noble of the sword and a noble of the robe—meaning, unfortunately for her, her mother was an old noble (nobles of the sword), but her father was a new noble (a noble of the robe) that had bought his title instead of inherited it. In summary, old nobles were supposed to marry old nobles, and new nobles were supposed to marry new nobles. There was no mixing.

And Aurora just got the memo that there was no interacting with people that were different than her. Again. Just in a different form. She sighed. "Yes, Charlotte, of course. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." _No, Charlotte. You're wrong. I knew exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that this man was kind, and he told me I have vision, and protection, and a gentle spirit, and his eyes had more of a soul in them than yours do._

_ And all you've ever told me is that I'm frigid, and shy to love, and that I'll grow old and alone if I don't go gallivanting off to the barracks with you._

_ I can hardly stand your insolence._

"What's that?" By this time, Charlotte was already off her criticism rant and pointed a finger to the head of the giraffe that peeked out of Aurora's small hand.

She bit her lip. How she hated lying. "It's just something I found at the market," she muttered, "I fancied it charming."

"Well?" Like stated before, nothing could sedate Charlotte's curiosity in anything. In actuality, Charlotte was a bit nosy, but Aurora tried not to think of her that way. "Let me see."

With delicate care, Aurora uncurled her hand from its shielding embrace around the wooden figurine, and held it out in her palm for Charlotte to look. Without asking, her friend plucked it from her hand and examined it without much interest.

"It looks like a deformed horse," she giggled. Aurora didn't.

"It's a giraffe," Aurora corrected, "they say they're as tall as the trees."

Her attempt at explaining only earned her a snort. "Preposterous. It's of crude construction, anyhow. It looks like a child carved it."

_This one made in little town. Wood taken from baobab tree. Carved by tribe-folk._

Aurora's fingers twitched, wishing to clench into a fist.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the ornament and stopped rotating it in her fingers. "Wait." Her peeled gaze turned to Aurora. "Did that _African _give it to you?"

"I—"

"He did." Charlotte glowered and shrugged. "Doesn't surprise me, anyways. They're not capable of much." Pinching it between her fingers, she held it up to Aurora. "I'm doing this to help you," she said (a lot of people told her that before they hurt her, Aurora thought), and tossed the figurine into the brush. "Don't let stuff like that come into the Upper Quarter. Let Common Quarter things stay in the Common Quarter."

Charlotte's "advice" caused Aurora to pull her lips into a thin, tight line. "Thank you," she said without the smallest bit of gratitude, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. I'm glad you understand the gravity of the situation," Charlotte replied seriously, and offered her arm. "Shall we?"

"Actually…" she clasped her hands tightly in front of her, "I think I'm going to be walking a bit slower home. You go ahead and find Sarah, I'll be enjoying the scenery."

"Suit yourself, darling." she chirped, as if she_ hadn't _just spewed a whole line of rapid-fire insults, and trotted off. "Toodle-doo!"

Aurora released a pent-up breath she didn't realize she had been holding as a hissed sigh. She knew Charlotte was a bit spoiled, but…

She shook her head. She was much too tired to deal with Charlotte and her foolishness. When she was sure her friend was out of sight, she looked to her right and left before scurrying to the brush, retrieving the giraffe figurine, and clutched it tightly against her chest all the way home.

* * *

"Father," Aurora called as Jeremy, their butler, opened the doors to the estate house, "I'm home."

She had hidden the statuette under her brown cloak, both of which lay in her basket. Maids rushed over to her to take off her hat and coat, scuttling like mice as they removed her clothes. She nodded softly. "Thank you." They curtseyed and hurried off into the long corridors.

Aurora exhaled slowly. Everything in her home was so _busy_; the textures on the furniture and the patterns on the cushion fabrics, the un-talking paintings of ancestors that hung on the wall and the claw-footed tables all were too _much _for her mind. The dazzling crystal chandelier didn't help, either; it felt more blinding that beautifully extravagant.

"Oh, Aurora dear, we were worried about you!" a high-pitched voice called from another room. Inwardly, Aurora groaned. Her three personal handmaidens were like aunts to her, but she didn't need their overprotective pestering at the moment.

Three slightly wrinkled (but still very lively) ladies bumbled into the room. Aurora gave them a tired smile. She loved them, but God, her three nannies knew _nothing _about the word _space._

Gloria Knot, Fiona Little, and Tiffany Wit had all been with her since she was a child. Although some of the "methods" they used to raise her were questionable (she vaguely remembered one of them trying to feed her spiders), they were the three most devoted people in her life.

Sometimes, no matter how devoted they were, they could cause quite a headache.

"Dearie, we missed you while you were gone—"

"—Hey! You got to say that last time, you old goat!"

"Aren't we going to tell her we cleaned her room?—"

"—You just did, beebrain!"

"Thank you, Auntie Knot, Wit, Little." Her stomach growled. "Is dinner—"

"Oh! Dinner, yes—"

"—I thought we were having venison as the main course—"

"_I _wanted some salad—"

"—No one cares what _you _want! Aurora dear, are you hungry—"

"Yes," Aurora sighed, "yes, very much indeed. Is it going to be ready—"

"I'm sure it'll be ready in the hour—"

"Nonesense! As much as those cooks gossip? It'll take two—"

"—_Please! _Everyone knows _you _gossip more than all of them combined—"

"—If I may interrupt," Aurora cut in on their distracted arguing, and they all stopped and turned their eyes on her, attentive and alert. Again, Aurora sighed. "Where is Father?"

"Oh, he's just upstairs in his usual study, Aurora—"

"—I thought he was out hunting!"

"No—"

Aurora placed a hand on Aunt Wit's shoulder and smiled. "I'll check the study, thank you."

"Oh dearie," Auntie Knot said, "do you want us to take your basket?—"

"No, thank you," Aurora interrupted, trying to stay as kind as she could short, "I'll see it up to my room personally."

As they flurried away, Aurora hiked up her skirts and slowly began her ascent up the carpeted stairwell, remembering how she did the same carrying nothing but a lantern, leading Mal as she followed her up the dark, wooden staircase. For a moment, she wished she could be back there, and _then _she reminded herself that Mal said she _could _come back, that she _welcomed _the idea.

And no one would judge her there. No one would judge her as a commoner conversing with a man of a different origin, or a woman worker, or a short, angry Irish man, and she could be _free _and _happy._

She was happy here, too…in a way. Happiness at the docks was simply _there_; happiness _here _lay hidden between the couch cushions, or maybe behind the heavy window drapes, or under the imported Persian carpet, or perhaps in the mouths of the un-talking paintings that hung on the walls.

Aurora just didn't have the energy to search a mansion for a moment of joy like that, not anymore. Before, if she was feeling sad, she could come home and call for happiness. _"Mother! Father!"_ and a servant would direct her, _"In the sitting-room." "Out in the gardens."; _sometimes, happiness would call back to her, _"In here, dear Aurora!" "My sweet daughter, I am at the piano."_

She noticed, with a heaviness in her heart, that when she called for this happiness, he did not call back to her.

Not once.

That happiness she could call before? That happiness, once she arrived, had a warm, wholesome embrace.

_He _did not hug her. _He _stayed cooped up in his study, or his bed chambers, or out in the woods, hunting.

_He _was her stepfather. _He _was the man that remarried her widowed mother, _he _was the one who replaced her beautiful surname of _Briar-Rose_ to _Ironhand._ _Aurora Briar-Rose to Aurora Ironhand._

And yet, she still tried to love him. Even when Mother died, she didn't give up.

No matter what she did, he never responded.

Drawing a deep breath, Aurora approached the heavy oak door, lifted a hand to knock, and was just about to make one set of raps when she heard shouting inside.

_"—Think you can get away with this? Do you think you can get away with haunting me? I'm a noble now! I'm more powerful than you, I'm stronger than you, richer than you ever dreamed to be—"_

Aurora's blood ran cold. Did they have a visitor? A ball of saliva rolled uncomfortably down her throat. She couldn't move.

_"—You think you can fool me? I know you're here! I feel your shadow in my house, I feel you in the night! You think you can steal everything I've worked for?—"_

Was the family under a threat?

A servant passed by, and she raised a hand for him to stop. He stood straight to attention. "Joseph," she whispered, "do we have a guest in the home?"

Joseph's brow creased. "Not that I know of, ma'am."

"Thank you."

He walked away quickly to his duties, and Aurora was drawn back to her stepfather's shouting.

_"—You're coming. I know you're coming. You're coming to tear down everything I've worked for, and I won't stand for this! I'll kill you if I have to—"_

She chose this time to knock (whether this was a good descision or not, she didn't know). Despite his yelling, the quiet taps on the door were enough, surprisingly, to bring his nonstop speech to a halt. There was a moment of silence, and then she gathered the courage to speak. "Father?"

_"Don't you see I'm trying to have a conversation?!"_

With a jolt, Aurora hurriedly whisked away from the door and straight to her room, clutching her basket with one hand. Once she was safely inside, she flopped onto her bed face-first and let out a long, much-needed sigh. Who knows what was going on in there? Either way, she had heard too much, and it wasn't a lady's business to eavesdrop—

No. Correct that. It was _no _person's business to eavesdrop. Male _or _female. She growled into her sheets. She _hated _the rules of a proper lady.

(As was demonstrated by her very unladylike flopping on her bed. She smiled a little at this in rebellion. A proper lady would've carefully maneuvered her tush onto the plush comforter, legs crossed. Her door was closed. She could do whatever she wanted when no one was looking.)

Rolling over (also in a very unladylike manner), she opened her basket and found the giraffe statuette. Rubbing her thumb up and down the neck, she realized the simple motion soothed her anger and frustration.

Its dark marble eyes twinkled at her like the man's. _Vision. Protection. Gentle spirit._

Smiling, she kissed it on the nose and placed it under her feather pillow.

**A/N: **Double update! :D I really needed to get an Aurora POV chapter out. I feel like there aren't enough (but there will definitely be more to come!)...and yeah, Charlotte's a bitch. A spoiled, judgmental, narrow-minded, haughty bitch. Surprisingly, I like to write her. I feel like she's the character we all love to hate. Anyway, sorry about how long this chapter is...3,000+ words? Yikes. Lots of Aurora this time around. Hopefully, some more will be revealed about both Maleficent and Aurora's pasts soon! And maybe we'll have some more malora slow burn fluffy bonding time too. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N (Important!): **I've changed Knotgrass's, Thistlewit's, and Flittle's names to something more appropriate for this AU:

Knotgrass: _Gloria Knot_

Thistlewit: _Tiffany Wit_

Flittle: _Fiona Little_

I have also made the appropriate changes in the previous chapter. Other than that, read on!

* * *

The mansion loomed over Maleficent like a mountain in the dark.

Estates in the Upper Quarter sat stunningly beautiful in the daytime. The sunlight tempted the vibrancy out of the diverse exotic flowers that blossomed along organized beds, kept by the expert gardeners who had tended the very same bushes for generations. White marble stairs donned the entrances of the richest nobles' homes, made to shine flawlessly by the maids scrubbing each long, broad strip of marble daily. Upon those stairs treaded the footsteps of prominent members of the community. Chins of ladies-in-high-standing jutted in the air like spears as they peered through narrowed eyes and walked with a deliberate slowness, gloved hands clasped conservatively in front of them. Often, these women carried fans, and gently flapped them in front of their faces to blow away old gossip and make room for the new. Gentlemen with crisp black suits and polished shoes to match climbed these stairs as if there was no hurry, but their pinched faces and tapping fingers indicated otherwise. Their stiff collars were like neck braces—without them, their heads would loll from the heavy weight of thoughts in their minds.

Of course, these thoughts were made so heavy due to their materialistic nature.

(Or, perhaps, these gentlemen thought they were so profound that it was all too unbearable.)

But now—now, with the moon cracking its eye open to watch Maleficent, not very dissimilar to the eye of a lady-in-high-standing—with the white marble stairs desolate of prominent footsteps—with the garden beds vacant of their gardeners, with the sun having long left—these estates grew larger, more ominous.

Was Maleficent afraid?

Never.

She had been hiding in the shadows of a nearby tree for about three hours now. An hour and a half ago, the last candle flame she could see in the window had vanished, which left the house ripe for the picking.

Patience was key, however. A thief couldn't simply barge in immediately after the lights had gone out.

There was a method to it all. She picked her target perhaps thrice a month—and it was always random; she never rotated houses the same way twice—scoped out how many people were home, how many people were up. After the last candle was extinguished, she waited until the whole house was asleep, and then she went in.

Maleficent was easily the best thief in the kingdom, with her intricate plans before a run. She had the deftest pickpocketing fingers, the best voice of persuasion, unmatchable hiding techniques (in fact, she could conceal herself so well that only a few people outside of her normal life recognized her—but then again, thieves do not steal for fame).

Yes, no other thief could compare to Maleficent, but it is a well-known fact that all thieves have been stolen from too, once.

Maleficent took a deep breath and threw her hood over her head. Shadows blanketed her eyes: a familiar comfort. Now her vision was through the shadows, she followed them to the edge of the house, found a ledge, and began to climb.

Really, all the years she spent working at the docks paid off here.

She made it to the second story and firmly grasped the outside sill of a window, braced her feet against the wall, and hoisted herself up to peek inside.

An empty bedroom was all that greeted her. Perfect.

Silently slipping through the open window, she extended one foot first and the other foot next to minimize the sound she created. Satisfied with the lack of creaking from hardwood floor, Maleficent quickly scanned the room for valuables.

How could she possibly see without a candle? Ah, yes—she chose the side of the house that faced the moon.

Locating a small jewelry box, she pulled out a pin, bent it, and carefully worked at the lock until she was rewarded with a soft _click_.

A small, victorious smirk stretched along her face, and, with her slender fingertips, slowly opened the container. An eyebrow arched at the strange array of jewelry; it was all butterfly-themed. What _were_ nobles into these days?

She shrugged off the thought and plucked a few small items—a set of earrings, two rings—and one large item that looked to be a brooch, closed the box, and was about to turn around when a strange sound met her ears.

Footsteps.

Pulse quickening, Maleficent stuffed the jewelry into a sack on the inside of her cloak and made her way to the window as quickly and silently as possible.

A floorboard creaked. She winced. _Damn those blasted things._

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by what sounded like sleepy (somewhat incoherent) mumbling. _Good, _Maleficent thought, _drowsiness will give me the advantage._

Maleficent didn't like the odds, however, when the doorknob jostled.

One leg through the window, and the hinges of the door squeaked in warning.

_Fuck!_ Maleficent hurriedly threw her other leg through the opening and slid down, grasping onto the bottom of the window, trying not to leave fingerprints on the glass.

"Thought I told…Knotgrass…better shut her…flowers should…blue…"

Now dangling by her fingertips from the outside window ledge, Maleficent's feet scrambled to reach for the next ledge below. The sluggish, nonsense gibberish could still be heard from the woman inside, and Maleficent tried to calm herself down as she reminded herself that this woman was probably sleepwalking. _She won't notice the whites of your fingertips in that kind of state._

_If I could only get my damn feet on this next window ledge…_

An unceremonious _thump _of a body on sheets made Maleficent exhale a small sigh of relief. _Thank God._

Finally, the tips of her toes caught the ledge, and she inched herself onto it before finishing her descent back down to the ground. Rubbing her now aching fingers, she wasted no time in rushing back to the shadows.

Now there was somewhere new she needed to go, and it was there that she would be welcomed with crooked grins and calloused hands.

* * *

The trip to the abandoned cabin was a few miles out from the central city section of the kingdom. Sure, taking the main road would cut the distance, but what thief would want to travel along the well-guarded roads that went straight out of the gates? No, among the thieves of the kingdom was a trail that branched off of an old hunter's path, barely worn down from the light footsteps of thieves. It wound with the woods, around the grand, slumbering oaks that watched travelers with a protective eye. The moon had begun to wane from its position in the sky and dawn crept on the horizon when Maleficent spotted the cabin through the overgrown foliage.

No ordinary person could detect signs of life unless they were carefully trained in the symbols of the thieves. Maleficent searched the right side of the path for stones resting side-by-side.

She found three laid out horizontally.

The black market was in session.

Tugging her hood farther over her head, she approached the cabin door and knocked three times, leaving one long pause between each.

The door slowly opened, and one bloodshot eye peeked out, narrowed in suspicion.

"Blackwing," Maleficent murmured.

Thieves do not have to go by their true name; in fact, it is frowned upon. A thief may choose any name that he or she would like to be addressed as.

Maleficent chose Blackwing, for her love of ravens.

"Aye, it's Blackwing," a gruff voice told the others inside. The door opened a bit wider, revealing a jagged, scruffy beard. "C'mon in."

Maleficent slipped through, and the door closed with a nervous creak behind her.

She was immediately hit with the smell of stale alcohol and mice droppings, but by this point it hardly bothered her. Various men grunted in crude greeting as she shouldered her way inside, and she gave little attention to the rest of them.

Most of the vendors stood behind shaky tables with their wares arranged very particularly on them, and beckoned her to come over, to buy nobles' clothes stolen _right from their closets, _or bottles of whiskey taken _straight from the cellars._

(Well, she did buy a few bottles.)

Maleficent made her way to a corner of the cabin covered in cobwebs, and towards a small, petite figure sitting crisscross on a tattered mat.

"Ah, Blackwing." The woman's voice was low and serious, but behind it was the faintest trace of a warm greeting. "What have you for me today?"

"Jewelry." Maleficent reached into her cloak and produced the small sack. "What have _you _for me today, Asora?"

Asora hummed. "I'll have to see the jewelry first."

"Very well." She untied the sack, carefully extracted each piece, and placed them on the mat. Asora studied them closely.

"Mmm." A small, wrinkled finger brushed lightly over the brooch. "This one has pure sapphire," she whispered. The finger moved to the earrings. "These, too, with a few small diamonds."

Maleficent sat down with her, cross-legged. "Asora, how can you still see this jewelry so well? You are so old now."

"Mmm. Blackwing, I may be old, but when it comes to shiny things, my eyes are sharp as a hawk." A glint passed over her grey eyes, punctuating her point. Veins strained against her skin as she reached out and rested her hand against Maleficent's. "You have good eyes too. Sharp enough to cut through steel."

Maleficent stiffened at the sudden touch, and did not respond. Asora's lined mouth only twitched into a sad smile. "Just make sure you do not cut through people as well."

Pulling away from Asora's hand, a scowl formed on her face as she murmured, "Just tell me what the jewelry is worth."

"Mmm. With that attitude, not very much."

"Asora."

"Blackwing, we do not see each other often. You should know to treat me better. I am only—" a wheeze interrupted Asora's words, "—a poor old woman." Humor tainted her dry lips.

Asora's efforts managed to pull a twinkle of amusement into Maleficent's eyes. "Alright, Asora. I have missed you, just a bit. Now, what are—"

"Yes, yes, mmm, the impatient youth." Asora examined the jewelry for a moment or two longer, and then she announced, "Six gold pieces, for the brooch—"

"_Six?_" Maleficent hissed in surprise. A few of the other patrons threw glances in their direction, but she ignored them. "Asora, that's enough to last me through the next two _months!_"

"Yes, yes," Asora nodded, "and five silver for the rest."

"God." Maleficent exhaled and leaned back a little. "Are you interested in any?"

"Mmm…" The old woman's eyes narrowed at the jewelry. "All of them."

_"All of_—"

"Yes, yes," she chuckled, "I can sell them to Bolt for five times the price. He does not know the first thing about the value of jewelry, and his wife is very demanding." She pulled out a small sack from the inside of her cloak and placed it in Maleficent's palm. It settled heavily there, like an unwanted memory. "Spend it wisely, and spend it well."

* * *

"This is _preposterous!_" Auntie Little shrieked, "I could've sworn I had them all here last night, and now I have no butterfly brooch for Sunday service—"

"—Calm _down_, you forgetful hag! We all know that you misplace things with such ease—"

"—don't you _dare _bring up that incident again!—"

"—both of you, _focus! _We need to _focus _to find Flittle's jewelry—"

"What do _you _know about _focus?_" the other two aunts cried simultaneously at Auntie Wit, who shrank back in response.

"Aunties!" Aurora's voice called (with a hint of stress) from down the hallway, "what in heaven's name is going on?"

Gloria glared at Tiffany and Fiona. "Oh, nothing, Aurora dear—"

"—Someone _stole _my jewelry!" Fiona sobbed, "Someone must've stolen it, and I don't know how!"

"Stolen?" Aurora entered the room, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Auntie Little, you're on the second floor of the house. I doubt anyone could've gotten in and stolen your jewelry."

"But I _swear_—"

"_Enough_."

The room fell silent as Stefan Ironhand's tall, looming figure stood stiff in the doorway, arms crossed. "What nonsense are you going on about?"

Aurora pursed her lips and avoided his gaze.

"You won't believe it, Mister Ironhand!" Flittle howled, "I went to bed last night, knowing full well all my jewelry was secure in its box, and when—" a great sniff, followed by the offering of a handkerchief and one long nose-blow later, Flittle was back to being disoriented, "—when this morning I found my butterfly brooch and earrings and rings _gone! _Stolen right from their—"

Fiona was silenced by Stefan's stare.

"Stolen." He echoed the word and tried it on his tongue. "Stolen."

"Y-yes, that's right."

When Aurora gathered the courage to look back up at her stepfather, her heart shrank back into her chest at the sight of his features cold as stone.

"Stolen…" He narrowed his eyes at the window across the room. Weighted, evenly paced footsteps caused the floorboards to groan in protest. The window was then scrutinized with hands clasped behind his back.

"Stolen."


End file.
